


Athos's Birthday

by Teland



Category: DCU (Comics), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Anal Sex, Angst & Humor, Aramis Has No Brakes, Backstory, Banter, Biting, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Established Relationship, Everyone Likes That Just Fine, Facials, First Time, Frottage, Genital Torture, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Humor, Improvised Sex Toys, Just the Tip, Kind Of An Unconscionable Amount Of Drinking, Knotting, Light BDSM, Lots of drinking, M/M, Magic, Married Couple, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Telepathy, face-slapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24977755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: "I. Am going to be very hard again, very soon," Athos says, in the tones another man might use to say "I have, at long last, discovered incontrovertible proof that the spheres move at the whims of the mad, the drunk, the foolish, and the malevolent."
Relationships: Aramis/Athos, Aramis/Athos/Porthos, Aramis/Jason Blood, Aramis/Porthos, de Tréville/Jason Blood, de Tréville/Porthos
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Oh, well, so long as no one is being *irresponsible*.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [naughtypixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtypixie/gifts), [demigodscum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/demigodscum/gifts).



> Disclaimers: ...
> 
> Spoilers/Timeline: Vague, AU-ized references to bits and pieces of canon from all three seasons, but takes place pre-series. 
> 
> Author's Note: I started this ages ago in an attempt to... no, I'm not gonna lie. I don't know *what* I was thinking when I started this thing. When I was going through my WIPs a few weeks ago looking for something to work on, I happened on a file labeled -- and I'm not making this up -- 'vamp surprise -- not actually a casserole'. There were no vampires. There were no hints that, perhaps, vampires would show up. There was also no hotdish. What there was? *gestures* 
> 
> Acknowledgments: My forever love and gratitude to Pixie, demigodscum, and, of course, my Jack for audiencing, encouragement, BIG-time editing, yanking me back on target, throwing things at me, laughing at the appropriate places, and always keeping me going. Thank *you*. <3

Jason announces himself the way he always does -- and the man's consistency in *this* respect is just one of the vastly numerous things Treville appreciates about him: 

A sudden heaviness to the atmosphere -- 

A deepening chill to the air -- 

Tendrils of questionably-vital shadow creeping toward Treville's desk from every corner of the *room* -- hm. They're getting awfully close tonight... 

"Feeling frisky, lover?" 

**_"Is that a *hopeful* tone I hear...?"_** And that was less speech than the eldritch intonations of something... *other*, because Jason isn't quite on this *sphere*, yet -- 

Treville's *bollocks* are creeping -- 

His ears are *flattening* -- 

The dog inside him is *glaring* at the lock on the kennels -- 

"Oh, dear," Jason says, in a much more livable manner. "Terribly sorry about that, amant." He steps out of the usual vaguely-distressing smudge on the air, pushes the coif of his mail back, and sets himself ablaze in the middle of Treville's office.

Which, ultimately, is a good thing, because *without* the -- eldritch -- flames, he'd be dripping blood, offal, and... fuck only knows what else all over the place. 

Treville sighs dejectedly.

"I know, I know, amant, you *hate* it when I have to leave you home, but --" 

"It couldn't wait; you're heard," Treville says, and spares a glance for the latest whining missive from Richelieu's secretary. The man is incapable of writing even the simplest note without sounding aggrieved, wounded, and, perhaps, moments away from being crucified. 

Treville glares at it. 

He -- 

"I..." 

"Mm?" And Treville looks *up* -- 

Jason is holding up two fingers. He's clean again, and there are no more flames dancing around him -- except for the tightly-controlled miniature conflagration above his hand. "I don't suppose I might be of some assistance with some of your... paperwork?"

Treville grins just as doggishly as he wants to -- 

"Oh, *amant*. I miss you every *moment* I'm not with you --" 

"Let's start making up for lost time, lover," Treville says, and reaches up for the catches on his tunic -- 

Jason grins *wetly*. "As you *say*. But..." 

"But *what*?" 

He nods to the parchment on the desk -- and *bounces* the fireball on his palm. 

Treville's cock jerks *through* his growl. "Let's destroy at least half of everything in --"

But, of course, *that* is when there are footsteps on the stairs -- jogging and *eager* footsteps -- which strongly suggests someone this close to losing their sanity altogether, because there is not one living being in Paris who doesn't know what an evil-tempered bastard Treville is when stuck in his office *this* late in the day... but. 

No. 

*No*. 

Treville stands up, using *all* of his speed to *grip* Jason by his queue and haul him back out of the shadow -- 

"*Amant* --" 

"Glamour yourself. Stay. *Stay*," Treville says, and -- he doesn't have words for the rest. For the need, for -- 

For the fact that it's the end of yet another long *fucking* day; for the fact that Jason is his love, his brother, his coven, and his *home*; for the fact that it's been too *fucking* long since he's been allowed to have those things in *one* place -- 

In *this* place --

And Jason's expression is much too *soft* -- 

Much too *gentle* -- 

He leans in and *nips* Treville's lip -- and he's absolutely dressed like a wealthy merchant -- 

And the shadow holding his hair in place flies into a corner, letting the whole gorgeous mass of it fall over Treville's hand -- 

So warm and thick and *smoky* -- 

Treville rumbles helplessly -- 

And Jason narrows his eyes in pleasure -- before raising an eyebrow. 

Those footsteps have absolutely made it to the walk -- and are slowing right down in suspicion. 

The Captain of the King's Musketeers has a reputation to uphold, and that reputation includes being a bastard about knowing when someone's on the walk, and knowing just when to *order* them into the office in order to maximize fear.

Well, he's already too late for that, but -- 

"You've already irritated me *nearly* enough for a punishment detail, du Vallon. I wasn't aware that you were a man who enjoyed testing *fate*. Get *in* here." There, that was *about* right for the man he has to be here -- 

But it's Porthos, *Porthos*, and -- 

And those footsteps are right back to sounding eager again -- 

The man *smells* eager and *cheerful* -- 

And, when he opens Treville's door, he's smiling -- 

Removing his hat and bowing over it with just a hint of a *flourish* -- 

"You know me, sir! I don't feel quite myself if I'm not being a mite *daring*, here and there," he says, and he grins even wider -- 

Bows to *Jason* --

Turns back to Treville, nods judiciously, and pooches up his face in a mock-frown --

It takes everything *in* Treville to keep from snorting and cuffing the man like the arsehole he wants to *be* -- 

He'd known from moments into Porthos's initial *interview* that he was *exactly* the sort of man whom every last *one* of his brothers would've dragged into hot water *with* them as often as *possible* -- though.

Not Laurent. 

Laurent would've settled for finding some terrifying way to seduce him. Probably. 

(Oh, yes...? Do tell,) Jason says, while keeping a mild and somewhat *blandly* curious expression on his face -- 

Which is better than how Treville is doing, because the *joyful* expression on Porthos's face says that he knows *exactly* how much Treville wants to laugh at his little sally. 

Porthos -- has always, always tried to make him laugh. 

From the very first day. 

(I daresay he knows you *need* it, amant...) 

Mm. Be that as it *may*... Treville sobers himself and moves into Porthos's space just a little too much for comfort, pulling on presence and just a little bit of *power* until he *can* loom over his honestly magnificent subordinate -- 

And Porthos nods once and stands to attention. "Sir." 

"Porthos," Treville says, and raises his eyebrows. "What *precisely* brings you to my office this late. Mm?" 

And there -- is the blush -- 

Just a *hint* of a fidget -- but. 

Porthos is a King's Man -- he'd come to them fourteen months ago, and he'd damned well had his commission for nearly six of those months -- and he *absolutely* knows when and *how* to belt up in front of his commanding officer. He stands straight again, clears his throat -- 

Treville nods in approval. "Just tell me about it, son. Whatever it is, we *will* find a way to work it through." 

"Well -- that's just it, sir," Porthos says, and -- gently -- squeezes the brim of his hat. 

"Mm? What is?" 

"It's nothing -- nothing *bad*, or -- well, I'll just say it." 

"Go ahead, son," Treville says, and quiets his force just a little to make things easier. 

Porthos takes a breath. "Well, um. It's Athos's birthday tomorrow -- I mean, you know that, you're his godfather, and all, and, well. He'd *never* ask for this himself, but he's been telling Aramis and me for *ages* all about how much he always loved it when you would spend time out to his family's manor when he was a boy -- and older than that, too." 

Treville blinks. Just -- blinks. He has no idea...

"Right, well, I'll just um -- barrel on. Anyway, Aramis and I were really hoping that maybe... maybe we could all... take you out. For a nice meal. And. Uh. Well. Obviously, it wouldn't be anything like what you're *accustomed* to, but --" 

"You." Treville coughs -- 

Clears his *throat* -- 

Porthos stands *straighter*, somehow -- 

Jason is laughing like an *arsehole* in their shared soul-space -- 

"Oh, sir, you -- you should definitely feel free to bring your mate, too --" 

*Jason* coughs --

"Son, I..." Treville frowns -- 

"I mean, I don't want to make you think -- it's just that we didn't know --" 

"*Son* --" 

"And --" Porthos turns to Jason -- "How long will you be in town, sir? Have you and the Captain known each other long?" 

Jason *stares* at Porthos -- 

Well, then. Treville takes a *breath* -- 

"I..." Jason licks his *lips* -- 

"I'm Porthos, by the way," Porthos says, and offers his hand. "Porthos du Vallon." 

Jason is starting to look a little stunned, which is adorable, but, to be fair, most of the people who introduce themselves to him these days do so with deadly weaponry. 

Treville claps Porthos on the shoulder to steal his attention again -- 

"Oh -- yes, sir?" 

"Jason -- that would be Jason Blood --" And Treville uses his *excellent* peripheral vision to check -- yes, Jason has used those shadows to get gloves on his hands -- "Jason has been my brother, lover, ally, and any number of other wonderful things for a little over a year and a half now, son," Treville says, and waits --

Porthos blinks -- and shakes his head *admiringly* before moving into Jason's space and *taking* his arm in a soldier's clasp. "Good on *you*, mate --" 

"I. Thank you? Thank you --" 

"I mean, I'm going to *assume* you treat our Captain the way he ought to be treated and such --" 

"I... try?" 

"Otherwise he'd boot you right out on your arse --" 

"He truly would --" 

"And *all* of us would *help*," Porthos says, and -- bless him -- does his very best to loom over the immortal mage who is, in fact, significantly more powerful -- and infinitely more *violent* -- than any number of *deities*. 

(To be fair, amant, *he* doesn't know that,) Jason says, and has the nerve to look -- and sound -- bloody *delighted*. 

We both know he'd do the exact same thing if he *did* know!

(Do we...? Mm. Yes, I suppose we do,) Jason says, and clears his throat-- 

And pulls on just a bit of his *presence* -- 

His *presences* plural -- 

And Porthos blinks and frowns -- and flares his nostrils *precisely* like the earth-mage he *isn't*. 

(Are we quite sure about *that*?) 

I've *checked*. He does things like that all the *time*.

(But... hm. Well, a mystery for another time. For now... let us assume --) 

"Uh. You... not to be offensive or anything," Porthos says, and uses his free hand to gesture to Treville and Jason. "Do the two of you maybe know each other from doing things... uh... leftwise?" 

(That. Let us assume that he knows *that*.) 

Treville smiles wryly. "Son. That is *precisely* what I didn't say about Jason before, but... I'm quite surprised that Athos didn't *tell* you that I'm a witch-shifter." 

"Well, did you *tell* him that he could tell us about that, sir? I mean, you know he always wants the *specific* permission for when it comes to sharing secrets," Porthos says, and gives Treville a *disappointed* look. 

(You rather look like he *hit* you with something and then *didn't* do it again.) 

I. No, wait. "You're absolutely right, son -- I *will* work on that going forward." 

"Thank you, sir," Porthos says, sunny again just that fast. "So... will you? Come out with us?" And he looks back and forth between Treville and Jason -- 

He smiles and nods a little -- 

His *tongue* is peeking -- 

(I'm going to spend the entire meal examining everything which makes him who he is.) 

You -- want to go? And Treville doesn't do a single bloody thing about the *upswell* of hope within him -- 

Every last one of his brothers *including* Jason had taught him better than that, and -- 

(Amant. Exactly *what* would make you think that I *wouldn't* want to watch us *both* stammer and flail around your entirely remarkable *sons*?)

Treville *coughs* -- 

"Uh. So... you and Monsieur Blood are talking things out? You -- maybe I should go?" 

"Oh, absolutely *not*, Porthos," Jason says, and squeezes Porthos's arm just a little. "You *must* understand how much joy I'm taking in *this* moment, when I'm finally getting to *see* mon amant with one of the young men he admires -- and speaks about -- so very often." 

Porthos... lights up like a Spanish fort under heavy artillery. "Oh! I -- uh. Well. I --" 

"Mm. *Quite*," Jason says. "What mon amant is *struggling* to find a good, appropriate, and *Captain-ish* way to say --" 

"-- is that I would bloody *love* to go, son, and so would Jason, and --" 

"*Thank* you, sir! And you, too, Monsieur Blood -- wait, do you have a title I should know about?" 

Jason coughs -- "I --" 

Treville reaches up and squeezes Porthos's wonderful shoulder. "Jason's immortal, son --" 

"Shit, *really*?" 

"He's somewhere over six hundred years old -- he's lost count -- and he's *also* lost his lands and titles, because there are only so many times a man can 'die' and conveniently return as the adult son who looks just like his father did." 

"Right, got it --" 

"That you do, son. *However*?" 

"Yes, sir?" 

"He's a knight right down to the core of him. He's *been* a knight since *Arthur* made him one when he was *fifteen*," Treville says, and raises his eyebrows. 

Porthos goggles just a bit -- 

Coughs into the hand he's not still holding onto Jason with -- 

Gives himself a *shake* -- 

(I've already *begun* examining him thoroughly, of course...) 

You keep that up. "You can ask questions, son." 

"I..." 

"You *should* ask questions, son." 

Porthos coughs again. "*Yes*, sir. And -- Ser Jason. I'm just -- uh. *Why* doesn't Athos know about this? I mean -- *is* this a secret? We've *asked* him about your brothers, sir, and he's told us... well. He told us a *lot*." 

Treville smiles wryly. "It's not a secret, at all, son. It's..." Treville shakes his head. "I am, in this moment, realizing *extremely* belatedly that the reason why Athos doesn't spend very much time alone with me, or visiting with me in my homes -- where he absolutely *would* have come to know Jason over the past nineteen months --" 

"Is that you didn't tell him in very, very small, clear, and *direct* words 'Athos, son, I absolutely want you to come over and spend time with me, yes, all the time, yes, including time when I might otherwise be doing other things, yes, tonight bloody too'?" 

Treville coughs and *looks* at Porthos. 

Porthos looks right back. 

"I would like to state, for the record, that the Athos -- the *Olivier* -- I had a hand in raising? Was not *quite* so..." And Treville raises *one* eyebrow. 

Porthos winces -- 

Squeezes Jason's forearm one more time before releasing him -- 

(I assure you, amant, I'm analyzing every *drop* of his sweat.) 

Please do -- 

And then Porthos gives himself another shake and smiles ruefully. "I apologize, sir. I don't mean to *actually* be insubordinate. I just -- Aramis and I -- we've *always* known how much he loves you, sir. How much he loves and *respects* you. It um. It made the way *we* always felt about you... make even more sense," Porthos says, and -- doesn't blush even one little bit. 

He's standing tall and proud and sure, and for long moments -- 

For *long* moments, all Treville can see, and think, and *wonder* about -- 

(Is what your predecessor did when *you* looked at him like that, amant...?) 

*Fuck* -- 

Jason laughs -- silently and *not* -- 

And Porthos smiles at both of them hopefully. *Invitingly*. 

There's neither time nor *excuse* to be an arsehole by hesitating. Treville squeezes Porthos's shoulder. "Son, Jason was just gently, *gently* skewering me for the fact that, even after years in this position, I still find it more than a little terrifying when brave, bold, smart, powerful, magnificent young soldiers like *you*... look up to *me*." 

And the expressions -- plural -- that run over Porthos's face for that are complex, to say the least. There's pride, thrill, honest joy -- 

But there's also *consternation* and *annoyance*, as if some part of Porthos is thinking seriously of *smacking* Treville with that wonderful hat of his -- which. Hm. Treville smiles wryly. "Perhaps I'm not supposed to sound like I'm even edging vaguely *towards* denigrating myself, son...?" 

"That's *right*, sir! You --" 

"Shh," Treville says, and squeezes again. "I wasn't; I promise. Jason?" 

Jason crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the shelving. "He truly wasn't, Porthos -- and before we go any further, please do call me *Jason*, as I had -- before I learned how to *read* -- grown out of demanding everyone remind me that I had been *knighted*." 

Treville snorts -- 

And Porthos grins broadly. "Anything you say, mate -- and I'll remember that." 

Jason inclines his head. "Thank you. Back to the point: Mon amant was *not* denigrating himself in that moment -- though your instincts were spot-on, as he does have the tendency to do such things when left to his own devices for long enough --" 

"Hey! You do, too!" 

Jason hums *obnoxiously* -- "As I was saying...?" 

Porthos grins at both of them -- "You've got a *goodly* fraction of my attention, Jason. Much more than that and the Captain might give me latrine duty." 

"You're assuming I'm not about to do that right now?" 

"No, sir," Porthos says, and pulls on a mask of constipated dutifulness. "I'm *hoping* you won't, as if you do I won't be able to devote my free time to the many widows and orphans of our fair metropolis --" 

"And what," Jason says, "were you planning to *do* with all of those widows and orphans...?" 

And, just like that, Porthos's expression turns wicked, ribald, and *wonderfully* doggish. 

(What do you know about this boy's immediate family? By which I mean: What do you know about the *myriad* earth-mages in this boy's immediate family?) 

I --

"Well, I don't know if I should *tell* you that, Jason," Porthos says, and his tongue is peeking again -- 

Jason grins and raises an eyebrow. "No...?" 

"Nah, definitely *not*. These are tales for mature, older fellows --" 

Jason *snorts* -- 

"The sort what's been around the *block* a few times --" 

"Son, I." 

"The sort what's --" 

Treville gives up on -- everything, absolutely everything -- 

*Grips* Porthos by the back of the neck -- 

And gives him a shake. 

Porthos snickers like an arsehole *while* shivering right down to his boots -- "Bloody *hell*, sir, you should *not* be able to *do* that with a man my size!" 

"Son, if you *make* me scruff you? I *will* scruff you." 

Porthos laughs harder -- "I don't know *why* it surprised me that you're a shifter -- you're *obviously* a bloody dog --" 

"I truly am --" 

"Wait." 

"Mm?" 

"I -- don't you... have..." And Porthos turns around and stares *right* at Treville's crotch. 

*Jason* laughs like an arsehole -- "You've been *wonderfully* well-educated, Porthos..." 

"That's *right*, mate. I came up around witches; they always made sure I knew what was what. But uh..." He *frowns* at Treville's crotch. 

Treville sighs. "The cock -- and bollocks -- you've seen before were glamoured, son." 

If anything, Porthos frowns *harder*. 

"Son? What's --" 

"I've been tossing it to the wrong cock for over a *year*." 

Treville stares. 

Jason *guffaws* --

Porthos *scowls* at -- no. 

No. 

Treville reaches into one of Jason's pocket-spheres, pulls out the brandy that he refuses to drink unless he bloody well has *company* for it, takes a *long* pull, and then hands the bottle to Porthos. 

"Oh, thank you, sir," Porthos says, and drinks heavily. 

Jason is wheezing -- 

"You're welcome, son," Treville says -- 

Takes a *breath* -- 

"As an *aside*, son..." 

"Mm?" And Porthos wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while handing the bottle to Jason -- 

Who drinks cheerfully -- 

"How *much* drinking did you do *before* coming up here today?" 

Porthos blinks. "You can't tell?" 

"Son. You're one of *my* men. If you all *don't* smell at least a *little* like the bottom of a wine barrel, *then* I get worried." 

"Too *right*, sir! Anyway, Aramis and I dragged Athos off to Thierry's -- you know --" 

"The *entirely* disreputable dive on a direct line between the garrison and three different wonderful brothels, lover," Treville says to Jason. 

Jason nods judiciously and hands the bottle back to Treville. "A fine mind for business." 

"Yeah, eh? Anyway, the point is, I *could* be a good sight drunker than I am, but I'm definitely on my *way* to being irresponsibly drunk." 

Treville stares. 

Jason snickers *hard* -- 

Porthos makes drinky-drinky motions -- 

Treville drinks, because it's absolutely the better part of valor -- wait. "What on earth did you and Aramis decide to tell *Athos* about what you were up to tonight?" 

"Well, see, we knew we couldn't actually lie to him in any kind of way without being *immediately* caught out, so we just flat-out told him that I was going to go talk to you about a present for him." 

"But..." 

"But here's the beauty of it, sir," Porthos says, taking the bottle and drinking, before handing it off to Jason, "I made it sound like I was going to, you know, ask you for *advice* on what to give your *godson* for his birthday -- like maybe I hadn't *already* gotten his present, eh? Because we *all* know Athos is *exactly* the sort to believe that even his best mates would leave it to the very last minute like that." 

Jason hums and hands the bottle back to Treville. "And, perhaps, the sort to believe that at least *one* of his best mates would stagger drunkenly out of a tavern to demand *shopping* advice from his Captain...?" 

*That* -- 

"Well, that just stands to reason, doesn't it?" 

Treville *stares* -- no. 

No. 

He drinks. 

And then he drinks more -- 

A little more -- 

"Oi, sir, you're not planning to hog that, are you?" 

"Yes, amant, don't be *greedy*." 

Treville holds up a finger -- 

Drinks just a *little* bit more -- 

"Right, well, that's just impressive at this point." 

\-- and *then* he stops drinking, wipes his mouth, and hands the bottle to his questionably-sane subordinate. "Thank you, son. At what point is Aramis going to take up desperate measures to keep Athos from trying to *rescue* you?" 

*Porthos* holds up a finger -- 

Drinks *heavily* -- 

Pauses -- "I meant to say, sir, this is bloody wonderful brandy!" 

"Thank you, son; it's my favourite -- and I categorically refuse to drink it alone." 

Porthos nods judiciously -- and drinks more. 

A lot more -- 

"This is what you get for setting a bad *example*, amant." 

Treville smiles fondly. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, lover." 

Jason hums and moves close enough -- finally -- to nip Treville's ear and growl softly. 

Soft enough that it *only* seems to dim every candle in the room by half, as opposed to occluding the *moon* -- 

Porthos stops drinking. "Uhh..." 

"You didn't hallucinate that, son. Jason is cursed in a few ways." 

"Got it, right," he says, and hands the bottle over. "So I was saying: Aramis and I already had a plan for keeping Athos distracted, if you, you know, needed convincing or some such." 

"I'm all ears, son." 

"Well, uh." And then Porthos stops *dead*. 

And blinks rapidly -- 

And licks his *lips* -- 

"Son...?" 

"Uhh..." And now, *now* he's actually blushing. 

"I must say, Porthos," Jason says, "I am now positively *gagging* to know what you're thinking about." 

"Uh. Well..." 

What -- what could it possibly *be*? 

(I haven't the faintest clue, but I'm hoping we're all *invited*.) 

I -- hm. 

(You're also hoping. In case you were wondering.) 

Right. "Son," Treville says, taking the bottle and setting it down on the desk before moving back into Porthos's space and cupping *both* shoulders. "*Son*. You -- rightly -- accused us both of witchcraft." 

"Well... yeah? You were *doing* witchcraft, sir!" 

"Yes, we were. But -- you've also already intimated -- *said* -- that you've been *tossing yourself off* to me for a *year*." 

"Well, yeah!" 

"You said that to us *after* I introduced you to *my lover*." 

"It's not like I want there to be any misunderstandings or any of that other bollocks, sir!" 

Treville licks his lips, and -- tries. "Son. I would like for you to try to encompass the idea, with me, that, at this point, you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Not with either of us."

Porthos blinks and nods thoughtfully for a moment -- and then smiles slyly. "This is the sort of conversation that tends to make Athos look like I've been beating him about the head and shoulders with something big, hard, and *confusingly* arousing."

Jason *snorts* -- 

And Treville smiles wryly. "You *might* have guessed that I know one or two things about expressions like that on my godson's face...?" 

Porthos nods with much more assurance. "Right you are, sir. So, Aramis and I knew it might take me a bit to get you thinking about things the right way, and all --" 

"He can *absolutely* be a stubborn *arse*," Jason says *sweetly* -- 

"That's why I need you to lick me tender again, lover," Treville says -- 

And Porthos laughs -- big. 

Laughs hugely, loudly -- *big*. 

Bright and loud and beautiful, and Treville has only ever had *one* reaction to that. 

He tamps it down as best as he can, but doesn't do anything to hide his smile -- 

(I'd *hex* you if you tried, amant...) 

As you *say*, lover -- "You were saying, Porthos?" 

"Well, we worked out a plan for this, sir --" 

"I'm already worried, but go on." 

"No, no, not a *complex* plan or anything, sir. We know our limitations when we're drunk and working against an Athos who *knows* we're plotting something, eh?" 

"I'm even more worried, but don't let that stop you," Treville says, and picks up the bottle again -- 

Jason *titters* -- "Oh, fuck, stop making me make that *sound* --" 

"Never, lover," Treville says, and *drinks* -- 

And raises his eyebrows at Porthos -- 

Who is grinning somewhat wolfishly at Jason. His tongue is peeking again. 

(He can *feel* me touching him -- examining him -- on at least some level, amant.) 

And his *hackles* aren't up?

(I *am* being friendly about it.) 

... *how* friendly? 

(Not one *jot* more friendly than you *want* to be.) 

... I haven't had that fantasy. 

(I'd noticed --) 

I haven't had that fantasy and I'm so disappointed with myself that I'm about to order myself to muck out the latrines. 

(Do ask about your *other* sons *first*.) 

Right you are, Treville says, and drinks -- 

Hands Porthos the bottle -- 

Porthos drinks and moves to hand *Jason* the bottle -- 

"Thank you *very* much, Porthos. About your... plans?" 

"Oh, yeah -- Aramis and I made good and sure to turn the conversation toward sex before I left to come back here, being really pointed and a little *brutal* about things with Athos --" 

"Brutal *how*, son?" 

"Well, you know how he is, sir. He doesn't *mind* when you talk about all *kinds* of dirty shit around him, but he'll clam up tight if you try to get him to actually *participate*. So Aramis and I were doing everything we *could*, tonight, to *make* him participate. Getting him flustered, getting him --" 

"Distracted, Porthos...?" And Jason has an eyebrow up so Treville doesn't *have* to --

"Well, *yeah*. But also? *Randy* enough to sit *still* for at least long enough for Aramis to *start* to seduce him and *really* distract him before he makes a break for it." 

Treville *stares* -- 

"See, the way we see it? Best case scenario? Seducing him actually *works* this time, and *one* of us *finally* gets to make love with Athos the way we've *both* wanted to for-bloody-*ever*. *While* this happens? *I* have the time to convince the Captain to give Athos the birthday he actually *wants*. And, well, even if Aramis *doesn't* make it all the way down Athos's trousers *this* time?

"We'll still have gotten him a little more *accustomed* to that sort of talk from us. *With* us. And -- maybe we *both* get a little closer to the Promised Land, eh? And? I *still* get the time to work on making Athos's birthday right and proper. 

"*And*, if it all falls apart and Athos *does* make a break for it -- well..." Porthos smiles ruefully. "He's still Athos, sir. He'll *be* here tomorrow, bright and early, and we'll be able to apologize for making him so uncomfortable, and *I'll still have had the time to convince you*." 

Treville -- shivers. "Son... I." He shakes his head and sets the bottle down again. And then he bloody well gives Porthos a hug. 

"Oh -- hey." Porthos hugs him right back, though it's much too careful. 

"Harder than that, son. Let me feel you." 

"*Yes*, sir," Porthos says, and squeezes him *tight* -- "Thank you, sir. Thank you -- I don't ever get *enough* of this --" 

"Shh. No one does. Not truly," Treville does, sniffing a little helplessly behind Porthos's ear -- 

He doesn't *lick* -- 

"Never turn it down when it's offered by someone you care for and *respect*, son," Treville says, pushing back enough to look Porthos in the eye. 

"I won't, sir! I -- I *don't*." 

"Good boy. Now -- I knew, probably before you boys knew yourselves, just how much you, Aramis, and Athos cared for each other. I could smell it, and... and it did my heart no end of good. I've *wanted* you for each other, in every way you could make that *happen*." 

"Oh -- sir? Really?" 

"Oh, yes," Treville says, reaching up to cup Porthos's face. "I want that even more now, son. You..." Treville shakes his head. "I know, now, that my godson has finally met two people -- two wonderful, beautiful, brilliant, funny, brave, loved and loving people -- who aren't just *worthy* of him, but realize that *he* is worthy of them. And love him for it. Are *in* love with him for it. He's -- oh, son, I know he hasn't told you this, but he's spent his life so *lonely*. 

"Even when he *had* his brother, they were so very different. For all that they loved each other madly -- and the emphasis, there, should be understood to be on the *mad* -- there was much they simply could not comprehend about each other. They were beautiful mysteries to each other, and while that will always lead to *passion*, it can often lack *enough* warmth. 

"Do you understand?" 

And Porthos is studying him now, eyes wide and deep -- 

"Son...?" 

"You... you don't mind? That I -- that we -- I mean -- he's your *godson*." 

"And you, Porthos, are a very, *very* large part of mon amant's *heart*," Jason says, aloud. Silently -- (There is blood-magic within him, amant.) 

What -- how? I -- no, wait -- "Son, I can *understand* why a young man in your position might -- somehow -- come to the conclusion that what you just told me about your feelings for Athos is somehow further beyond the pale than anything else you've said tonight --" 

"But... no? I. I promise I'll never let you *down*, sir -- and -- of course I'd never bloody hurt Athos --" 

"Shh, shh," Treville says, cupping Porthos's face more firmly, and stroking his cheek with his thumb. "Not that, son. Think... do you remember what I told you in your initial interview?" 

"You -- you told me about your father, sir. How he was a common soldier once, just like any other bloke --" 

"That's right, son. A soldier first *and* last. A soldier to the *end* -- who never went *anywhere* without his fellow soldiers at his *side*. And? He damned well raised me to be just the same. *All* of my lovers have been warriors in one way or another, and I don't *have* lovers who aren't already my family. In my eyes? In my heart and soul? We're the same kind, son," Treville says, and presses a little firmly with his thumb. "We're the same *kind* -- and we *always* will be."


	2. Well, Treville is definitely making *an* impression.

Porthos's heart is... thundering for that. Just -- 

He can't -- 

This whole *night* has been *incredible*, starting from the moment when Aramis had met Porthos's eyes with his beautiful yellow-brown ones, and -- 

("I -- Porthos..." 

"Yeah, mate?" 

"I believe there is *one* way forward with our plans, and that is *honesty*." 

"'course, that's what we said, but we still have to --" 

"I believe we can be... even more honest. About... our feelings.") 

And they'd looked at each other then -- looked into each other and felt each other and *known* each other -- 

("Our feelings about Athos, Aramis...?"

"We should not -- no." 

"No?" 

"*I* will not limit myself, Porthos. *Beautiful* Porthos. I will not limit myself for even *one* more night.") 

And he hadn't. *They* hadn't.

The only privacy they'd had in *that* moment was the garbage-choked shadows of the alley behind Thierry's, but -- 

("Oh -- brother..." 

"Is this what I am to you, my Porthos?" 

"*Fuck* --" 

"Is this *all* I am --") 

He'd kissed Aramis, of course -- 

He'd slammed Aramis right up against that wall, pinned him and held him, touched him and *taken* -- 

*Bitten* that perfect mouth -- 

("*My* Aramis --" 

"*Yes* --" 

"Will you -- will we --" 

"*Yes*, my Porthos --" 

"Let me *finish* -- *mm* --") 

And Aramis's hand had been strong, hot, damp with sweat and *promising* over Porthos's mouth. It -- 

("Listen very carefully, my Porthos.") 

Porthos had done his *damnedest* to make his expression say that Aramis had his *absolute* attention -- 

Aramis's eyes had been wild --

*Mad* -- 

("There is not one thing you may not have of me, my Porthos. *With* me. *From* me --") 

Porthos hadn't been able to keep himself from *growling* behind Aramis's hand -- 

Aramis had shown his *teeth* -- 

("Oh, yes? This is so? I promise you, my Porthos -- this is *well*,") he'd said, and *moved* his hand -- 

Porthos had caught his wrist -- 

Licked his palm and sucked two of those long, perfect fingers *in* -- 

Slurped them nasty and *wet*, keeping his gaze locked on Aramis's the whole time -- 

And Aramis had panted. *Shivered*. *Nodded*. "Yours, my Porthos." 

Porthos had tugged Aramis's fingers free. "Mine." 

"Yes. Please," he'd said, and ducked his head just that little bit -- 

Just that little *promising* -- 

("Aramis..." 

"The answer is yes, my Porthos. But --" 

"But *what*." 

"Our Athos is due to arrive... very soon --" 

"*Fuck* --" 

"He is --" 

"He's never bloody *late*,") Porthos had said -- 

And *yanked* Aramis into his arms again --

("No more secrets, love." 

"No more *lies*, my Porthos." 

"Not for *any* of us.") 

And Aramis's smile had been *that* one. That bright one, that *young* one, that one that *always* means that everything's just right with him, with them, with all *three* of them -- because they're together, just the way they should be. 

Because they're safe and warm and happy -- 

Because, maybe, Aramis is *making* them happy... 

And Porthos had promised himself -- *not* for the first time -- to learn a *lot* more about that -- 

Had shifted his *grip* on Aramis until he'd just had *one* arm around Aramis's shoulders -- 

They'd smiled into each other's *eyes* -- 

And they'd moved back out onto the street and into Thierry's to wait for their brother. 

Their *love*. 

Right here, right *now*, Porthos sighs and smiles and stretches a little -- 

Takes a nice, *healthy* swig out of the bottle Jason hands him -- 

"Back with us, son?" And that was the *Captain* -- 

"Mm? Wha...? Uh -- sir --" 

Treville *whacks* him on the back -- 

Porthos *coughs* -- 

Takes a *look* at his surroundings -- fuck, Treville and his Jason have all but walked him out of the garrison! 

"I -- sorry about that, sir --" 

Jason snorts. "You're an *arse*, amant," he says, and then a shadow flies out of bloody *nothingness* to queue up that gorgeous hair of his -- 

Porthos doesn't *stare* -- 

Treville snickers and *whacks* Porthos again -- 

"*Oi* -- I mean -- uhh..." 

Treville laughs *harder* and steals the bottle -- 

Drinks *heavily* -- 

Belches *loudly* -- 

Jason snorts *again* -- and steals the bottle from Treville with another bloody *shadow*. "As I was saying, Porthos: Treville? Is an arse." 

"That I am, that I am," Treville says, sighing happily. "Fuck, it's good to be out in the *air*." 

Porthos takes a deep breath -- 

Of *Paris* -- 

And frowns. While raising his *eyebrows*. 

Jason *titters*. 

"Both of you can lick my *arse* --" 

Porthos *chokes* --

Jason *hoots* -- 

"*Right* up until *you're* stuck in a little wooden *box* full of *parchment* and *ink* --" 

"Sir --" 

"And *merchants* and *politicians* --" 

"Sir, I --" 

"-- hair full of *pomade* -- perfumed pomade!" 

"But --" 

"Shut it and take that bottle from Jason, son." 

Porthos takes the bottle and drinks -- 

Jason pulls *another* bottle out of *nothingness* -- 

Drinks -- 

Sighs -- "In *any* event, Porthos, your Captain is *truly* invested in getting *out* of the office --" 

"All the bloody time. Any time. Right bloody now." 

"Right, but --" 

"I don't think I told you to stop drinking, son." 

Porthos drinks. 

Jason hums and *also* drinks --

"Excellent work, both of you," Treville says, and claps Porthos on the shoulder. "Now where was I?" 

"*Whingeing*," Jason says, and his teeth *gleam* in the moonlight. 

"Did I or did I *not* tell you to lick my arse?"

"*Anytime*, amant, but..." 

"But *what*?" 

"Don't you think you ought to be making a *good* impression...?" 

And --

There's something strange. 

Something a *little* like all the silent communication that *has* been going on between Jason and Treville, but -- more. 

More intense or deeper or -- 

Porthos isn't certain. He looks to Treville -- 

Treville is *staring* at Jason as though Jason has the secrets to just -- everything important in the *world* behind his eyes. 

*Jason's* expression is -- rueful. Shocked. Something -- 

"Um... should I maybe... make myself a little --" Scarce, he was *going* to say, but Treville is *gripping* him by the arm -- 

Treville is *growling*, low and hard and *terrifying* -- 

His eyes are *gleaming* -- 

"Uhh..." 

"Be at ease, Porthos," Jason says -- 

Porthos *looks* at him. 

"Hm. Well. Perhaps that is somewhat less than strictly..." Jason takes a breath and seems to pull about half the night's darkness *into* him. And *then* he looks to Treville. "Amant," he says *firmly* -- 

And Treville *stops* growling, just like that. 

He doesn't loosen his grip one bit, though. 

He doesn't -- 

But it's a start. "Sir, are you -- well, all right, I know you're not *well* --" 

"Son. I believe. I believe," he says, and looks up into Porthos's eyes, "from what I've come to know about you, that you're going to want your brothers with you for this conversation." 

Porthos blinks. "What... but." He licks his lips. "Does this. Does this have something to do with all that..." He waves a hand, gesturing to himself. "That Jason was doing, with me?" 

"Yes, son. I..." Treville swallows and grips Porthos *tighter* -- 

It's -- 

He's so bloody *strong* -- 

It's actually *painful* --

Porthos *refuses* to wince -- 

Treville inhales sharply and *jerks* back -- "Son, I apologize --" 

"No, it's all right --" 

"It *isn't* --" 

"It's obviously -- something maybe made you think... I don't know. I don't. I just know that you don't *lose* it like this unless you think someone you care about is in danger, so --" 

And Treville -- whines. 

*Exactly* like a dog. It -- 

He turns away -- *steps* away -- before Porthos can do *anything* -- 

But Jason is right there to comfort Treville, and pull shadows around them both -- or maybe around all of them. It's a bit hard to tell. 

Porthos waits it out. Just -- waits. 

And tries to figure out what to *do* with the sight of Treville -- his *Captain* -- shuddering all over like -- 

Like he's *ill* -- 

But it doesn't last long before Treville's looking up again, looking at *Porthos* again -- 

Looking -- 

It almost seems as though he's looking *into* Porthos -- 

Porthos licks his lips, and nods -- 

Treville nods back -- 

Porthos would *really* like to know what he's *agreeing* to -- 

But Treville and Jason are bracketing him again -- 

Starting to lead him out toward the bars and brothels again -- 

Tucking the bottles away -- 

Fine, start there. "So uh... we're going to stay sober for this conversation, I take it?" 

Treville coughs a *pained* laugh -- 

"Oh, no, no, amant. I'm sure that if you were to ask the All-Mother *nicely* --" 

"Oh fuck -- lover --" 

"-- she would sober *all* of us right up --" 

"Uhh..." 

"-- possibly including everyone in -- Thierry's, was it, Porthos?" 

"Uh. Yeah. Wait, but, does the goddess not *like* people getting drunk? Or..." 

Treville claps him on the shoulder *again* -- "Every last being on this planet -- plant, animal, and otherwise --" 

"Except one --" 

"Except that one, yes, lover -- we're all the All-Mother's children, son. Every last one of us." 

"Right, that's what I'd heard, but --" 

"Including all those wonderful plants and other things people use to make booze, son." 

"And all those *other* marvelous things humans -- and other animals -- get utterly *stupid* on," Jason says. 

"Absolutely all of them, yes," Treville says, and strokes up to the back of Porthos's neck -- 

Porthos shivers -- 

Treville *shakes* him a little -- 

"I'm listening, sir!" 

"This is the important part, son: We are not Christians, and we are *absolutely* not Catholics." 

"What? *No*. But --" 

"The All-Mother," Jason says, "is not in the habit of *providing* things for her children with one hand only to punish her children with the other hand for *using* those things *as they are meant to be used*." 

Porthos blinks -- 

Thinks about it -- 

And nods. "Right you are, then. Both of you." 

Treville *pats* the back of Porthos's neck before moving his hand back to Porthos's shoulder. He leaves it there this time. He -- 

Porthos has to admit it feels great. But -- "That uh -- it brings me to the next *question*, though. I mean, if she doesn't *mind* all the drinking, and the -- whatever..." 

"I..." Treville coughs. 

Jason smiles *meanly*. "Well, amant...?" 

Treville *scowls*. "Isn't there a slime demon --" 

"Whose taint I could be licking? *Probably*," Jason says, and *tosses* his queue. "I'd miss your effervescent charm, though." 

Treville gestures. 

"... *eventually*." 

Treville *snorts* -- 

Shakes his head -- 

*Squeezes* Porthos's shoulder -- "Son." 

"I *promise* I'm paying *close* attention to every moment of this, sir." 

Treville coughs another laugh -- "I..." 

"*Do* be sure to share every *last* detail with your brothers, Porthos," Jason says. 

Porthos nods judiciously. "I'll try my hardest, mate," he says, and when he turns back to Treville -- 

Treville is giving him the warm look. The *happy* and *proud* look -- 

And -- 

And that look has been there all *night*, but -- 

"Sir...?" 

Treville smiles ruefully. "You're exactly who you should be, son. That's all." 

"I -- all right..." 

Treville hums and turns away, but not before Porthos can see that he's blushing, just a little. 

It's -- 

Hunh. 

Porthos looks to *Jason* -- 

And the smile on his face is small and a *little* secretive, but not mean, at all. And he turns to share it with Porthos right away, eyebrow up and expression... 

Well, just as warm, just as *inviting*, as it has been. 

Right from the beginning. Everything *about* him has been warm and inviting, including all the little -- and not so little -- touches to Porthos's *soul*. 

And Porthos *had* been thinking that it was just the sort of thing that old and paranoid mages *did* when they could smell magic-use on someone walking into their space -- and maybe sometimes when they couldn't. 

Certainly, Yejide *always* keeps *all* her senses honed, and that's one of the things that's let her *get* to be as old as she is. But... 

But. 

It could maybe be a little more than that. 

A little -- or a lot -- more. And Porthos is *exactly* who he is, with exactly the *fantasies* he's had -- for over a bloody *year*!

But then there's Aramis, and Aramis is his brother and his *heart*, and a lot of other things, too. 

Porthos thinks -- feels, too -- that Treville would maybe understand that sort of thing a lot better than most, but -- 

Some things still need to be said -- aloud and *clearly* -- to make sure that *everyone* understands them. Porthos has never actually minded being the one to start conversations like that. He clears his throat -- 

"Mm? Oh, I'm sorry, son. I was going to say -- the All-Mother doesn't *appreciate* Her children getting so blotto -- on *whatever* they're consuming -- that they can't protect themselves --" 

"Uh." 

"-- so, the closer a relationship a mage, shifter, or other sort of being *has* with the All-Mother? The more likely it is that She will *forcibly* sober them up whether they want to be sober or *not*," Treville says. 

"*Oh*, yes, Porthos. Please *do* picture your Captain staring in dejected *horror* at his glass of brandy as he realizes -- with *perfect* clarity --" 

"That uh. He'll *have* perfect clarity for the rest of the night?" 

"Exactly, son," Treville says, and gives Porthos's shoulder another squeeze. "Happily, She lets me get a little stupider than usual when Jason's about." 

Jason laughs softly. "I still haven't decided how I *feel* about being considered an appropriate *chaperon*." 

"Look at it this way, lover: You *always* get the chance to have your wicked, wicked way with me," Treville says, looking past Porthos and -- lolling his tongue. 

Jason *snorts*. "Tease." 

Treville reels that tongue right back in -- "You take that back!" 

"Why *should* I? You've had me on tenterhooks all *evening*." 

"You're going to give Porthos the *entirely* wrong idea about me, for one." 

And Jason and Treville share a *look* -- 

A *long* look -- 

Jason's expression is wryly amused -- and then he raises an eyebrow. 

Treville's expression is *pointed* -- and then that eyebrow *hits* and he looks stunned and more than a little *horrified*. He all but stands to *attention* -- 

Jason laughs *quietly* again -- 

"Right, look," Porthos says, and looks to both of them, "we really need to talk about --" 

"Son," Treville says, and his voice is -- low. *Dark*. "Son... let's wait just a little longer." 

"Sir, you're both *attracted* to me --" 

Treville winces and turns away -- 

Jason nods and doesn't say a *word*. 

"I -- I just want to say that I'm attracted to both of *you* --" 

"We are aware of that, Porthos," Jason says, *noncommittally* -- 

"Yeah, I know, but -- it doesn't have to be --" Porthos growls and *stops*, right there in the middle of the street -- 

Treville and Jason stop *with* him -- 

It's not at *all* a surprise that Jason calls shadows to make things a lot less *obvious* -- and it's *very* welcome. 

"Thank you, mate," Porthos says -- 

"You're quite welcome," Jason says, and he's being almost *formal*. Hanging back and pulling even *more* shadows around *himself*, and he's *obviously*... 

"You're... deferring to Treville. For this. Right?" And Porthos can't help but frown. 

"When we can discuss all aspects of this... I believe that you will see why," Jason says, and smiles ruefully. 

Porthos *knows* he's scowling, but -- "That -- that's not right. That's not *right* --" 

"Son," Treville says, and squeezes Porthos's shoulder *firmly*. "I agree with you." 

"*Amant* --" 

"There is no discussion of *this* matter which is *possible* without *all* parties," the *Captain* says, hard and sure and *steady* -- 

Jason takes a breath -- "As you say, amant," he says, and the shadows shrouding him from *them* peel back. 

Porthos nods. "Thank you. Both of you. I just -- I just needed to say *that*. Aramis and I -- we couldn't have *made* that plan if we hadn't uh... come to an *agreement* before *any* of this started tonight. Even if Aramis hasn't gotten anywhere with Athos? I can't -- I don't feel *comfortable* flirting with you both and acting like it's all all right and everything before we all bloody *talk*." And Porthos raises his eyebrows -- 

And -- Treville is giving him that bloody *amazing* proud look again, which is hard enough to deal with -- 

Bloody *impossible* to deal with -- 

But Jason is looking at him like, maybe, Porthos is something he hasn't seen before. Something *uniquely* beautiful, and Porthos is *absolutely* blushing, and standing to attention -- 

Treville drags his thick, rough, *hard* thumb over Porthos's cheek, and that tells Porthos *everything* he needs to know about how *easy* it is for Treville to see in this gloom, and -- 

"We should -- uh. We should," Porthos says, incoherent and *helpless* -- 

"Right you are, son," Treville says, and moves his hand back to Porthos's shoulder -- 

"Oh, yes," Jason says, and gestures the shadows away. 

Porthos decides to focus on -- walking. 

Just walking.


	3. I award full marks.

Aramis has been forced to admit defeat. 

Not long after Porthos had left them for 'shopping advice' -- 

Left *Aramis* to focus every last *one* of his wiles on Athos -- 

("At what point am I supposed to surrender my sense, convictions about friendship, and morality?" 

"Athos?" 

"You understand that I'm only curious, Aramis. I'm enjoying our evening out together, but I'd like to know when I'm going to have to *end* it.") 

And Athos had given Aramis... a look. 

Specifically *that* look. 

The look which blended amusement with affection *and* absolute command, and which thus demanded absolutely *all* of Aramis's allegiance. 

He had admitted defeat. 

("I will stop attempting to seduce you, my friend." 

"Thank you. What *else* are you trying to do?"

"Keep you here, with me, while Porthos does *precisely* what he *must* do.") 

And Athos had frowned deeply -- 

Turned toward the door precisely like a man looking to upend all *sorts* of plans -- 

("I am asking you to leave this, Athos,") Aramis had said in his quietest, most serious, most *honest* voice. 

Athos had blinked --

Turned back to Aramis -- 

*Studied* Aramis -- 

("Please,") Aramis had said, and smiled ruefully, and offered his hand palm up. Only that. 

("This... is important to you." 

"Yes, my friend.") 

Athos had nodded then, and taken Aramis's hand, twining their fingers together and squeezing firmly. 

("Perhaps you will help us... not speak about why,") Athos had said, smiling wryly, openly, invitingly -- 

And Aramis had wondered, not for the first or even the twentieth time, what it would take to convince the man that his efforts to seduce were just as serious, just as meaningful, just as -- 

He had put that aside. 

He had ordered them *two* more bottles -- 

And he had begun to *speak*. Opening *himself* -- 

Inviting *Athos* -- 

Offering -- 

In this moment, it is perhaps not so strange that they are speaking of Porthos.

That they have *been* speaking of Porthos for the better part of the past half hour. 

Of his honesty, his humour, his generosity of spirit -- 

Of his kindness and care and moments of abject ridiculousness -- 

And so on. 

It is, perhaps, *predictable*, given the fact that they both know -- they *all* know -- that Porthos was the first man -- the first *person* -- whom Athos considered a true friend. 

It... hmm. 

Should Aramis have been the one to march, hat in hand, into Treville's office tonight, leaving Porthos here to seduce?

"Aramis? What are you thinking." Suspicion in Athos's voice just that *quickly*, for only a few moments of silence... 

In the past, Aramis had noted such things and dissembled anyway -- if not outright lied. This, *perhaps*, is part of the problem. 

More to the point, he has made a promise to and *with* Porthos -- *his* Porthos -- not to do such things anymore. So. 

He meets Athos's *eyes*. "I was wondering, for very long moments, if, perhaps, Porthos and I should have switched *places* tonight, friend Athos," he says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Athos blinks -- 

And stares -- 

And -- leans back. Away. 

"Please do not do that --" 

"Porthos. I do not believe..." Athos frowns and turns away. "I should go." 

"Athos, *wait*," Aramis says, and *grips* Athos's wrist. 

Athos stares at Aramis's hand on his wrist, and the frown on his face is mild... but. The one in his eyes is anything but. 

Aramis winces and squeezes gently. *Firmly*. "Please, my friend. Tell me *exactly* how I have upset you so that I may make amends --" 

Athos looks to *him* -- and his eyes are blazing with rage, with hurt, with -- 

"Athos, please, I do not --" But he does know. He *thinks* he knows, and the knowledge is *curdling* within him, weakening -- "Athos," he says, and shakes his head. "Porthos would not try to seduce you *solely* for the sake of a *ploy* --" 

"Is that not what you *just* said." 

"-- and *I* would not, *either*. I -- *please*, Athos. We both *love* you --" 

"Stop --" 

"We are both *in* love with you --" 

"I said *stop*," Athos says, *yanking* his hand away and standing -- 

The table rocks -- 

The empty bottle falls and rolls -- 

The *mostly*-empty bottle rocks but stays upright, and Aramis doesn't care about anything but getting *close* to Athos, stopping him -- 

Aramis *throws* coins at their table and *runs* after Athos -- 

Out the door and -- 

He doesn't *quite* slam them both into a wall when he finds Athos stopped just *outside* Thierry's. He doesn't -- 

He cups Athos's shoulders through his leathers -- 

He squeezes *gently*. "Please listen to me." 

Athos says nothing for long moments, and does not meet Aramis's gaze. Nothing -- 

"Athos..." 

"You." Athos swallows and looks *up*. "You have been being... honest with me --" 

"*Yes* --" 

"All night..." 

"Yes, *please*." 

Athos smiles ruefully. "That... is something which is rather new for both of us." 

Aramis winces -- and steps back. 

"Don't -- oh." Athos winces and swallows again. "I did not mean for that to hurt you," he says -- formally. 

Aramis smiles ruefully. "Thank you for this, my friend. I... I was not thinking, as well as I might have been. I was not thinking about what all of this might have been like for you." 

Athos smiles back in kind. "You -- and Porthos -- are... aware. Of my romantic... difficulties." 

Aramis *coughs* -- "Ah..." 

Athos hums. "Yes, that was rather desperately euphemistic. I..." He shakes his head. "I have known of your desires. Yours and Porthos's. It..." Athos's expression, now, is more ruefully *pleading* than anything else. 

"It... we made it seem teasing. *Joking*. We always... laughed it away when *you* did. Or even if you did not --" 

"*Yes*. And -- I recognize, now, that you both were doing your best to keep things from being *awkward* among us, that you were both being as -- as socially *deft* as you always *are*, but --" 

"Perhaps... it set a very specific *tone*, my friend?" And Aramis reaches for Athos's hand -- 

Athos shudders and *grips* Aramis's hand -- "I want." 

"I would like to give you what you want --" 

"No -- but." Athos frowns at something behind his own eyes. 

Aramis steps closer because he *must* -- 

"You have... come to an understanding with Porthos." 

"Yes --" 

"Do you truly believe..." But he says nothing else after trailing off, and he does not *look* at Aramis, and -- 

And Aramis can't. He cups Athos's face, stroking his soft beard because he must do that, as well, because -- 

And Athos is looking at him, at last, and his gaze is bleak and hungry, bleak and *starved* -- 

And Aramis kisses him, only kisses him, because there is no other option whatsoever. 

For a time, only their lips are moving against each other, only -- 

And Aramis kisses again, again and again -- 

But Athos *pants* against Aramis's mouth, shudders hard, shoves both hands into Aramis's *hair* -- 

"Oh, yes -- ple--" And the rest of that is moaned, *begged* into Athos's hot mouth, *suckling* mouth once he urges Aramis's tongue in -- 

And *in* -- 

Aramis teases and urges in *turn* -- and promptly gets shoved against a wall and *taken* by Athos's kiss, Athos's *brutal* kiss as he growls, bites -- 

Sucks *while* he bites -- 

Aramis hums and nods and *rolls* his body against Athos's own -- 

"Aw, good *show*, brothers!" 

And Porthos's voice makes Athos *stop* kissing and groan against Aramis's cheek, desperate and hungry and *shaking* and *promising* -- 

Aramis *remembers* that he has multiple limbs and uses *two* of them to *hug* his beautiful brother, stroke and pet -- 

He kisses Athos's temple -- 

And Porthos moves up beside them and kisses *his*. "All right, you two?" 

"Oh, *yes*, my Porthos --" 

"I. Am somewhat stunned," Athos says. 

"That *might* have something to do with what you're doing in the middle of the *street*, son," *Treville* says -- 

From just *behind* Porthos -- 

And Porthos is *laughing* for some reason, but -- 

But Athos is --

Is.

Beating his forehead against Aramis's shoulder. And, in general, doing absolutely nothing to allow them to move out of their *compromising position*. 

"*Athos* --" 

"Aramis," Athos says, in a tone of wry *exasperation*. "The fact that I escaped my adolescence without my Uncle -- and godfather -- Treville showering me in miserably sexual embarrassment said nothing whatsoever about the possibility of my making it through my entire life that way. I was, apparently, due," he says, and stands straight at last -- 

"That you were, son. Now come give me a hug, it's officially your birthday." 

"I -- sir --" 

Treville *looks* at Athos. 

And, beside Treville, there is a strange, compact, broad-shouldered man with long red hair looking on as though moments away from *cooing*. 

Athos raises an eyebrow, and so Aramis feels entirely justified in doing the same... once he's straightened his leathers -- and moustache -- to a certain extent. 

"Wha...? Oh," Porthos says. "Don't worry, brothers, that's just Jason Blood. He's our Treville's brother, witch-brother, lover --" 

Athos *coughs* -- 

Aramis *stares* -- 

"-- ally, and, well, a whole lot of other things --" 

"That's *right*, son," Treville says. 

"Don't stand on ceremony, eh? He sure as fuck doesn't," Porthos says, and *whacks* Aramis on the back, not incidentally bringing him *closer* to the Captain and his strange... companion. 

Aramis inclines his head to Blood. 

Blood smiles warmly and returns the gesture -- and when he raises his head there is a something of a *studying* look beneath the warmth. 

Which -- 

Well. 

This night will, perhaps, grow even *more* entertaining.


	4. An armpit for each brother.

Objectively, Treville thinks, they've got to get out of the street.

While Jason's shadows can do -- and *are* doing -- any number of things to provide a *large* degree of anonymity -- 

While it is, in fact, the middle of the night in a part of Paris where the vast majority of people would rather fuck a literal jagged hole in a brick wall -- or *be* fucked by a jagged brick protrusion *from* that wall, as the case may be -- than stick their noses anywhere they *might* not belong -- 

And Treville would do any number of favours for any number of people to be allowed to *live* in a neighbourhood like this again -- but. 

They have to get out of the street. 

If for no other reason than the fact that Porthos -- who is, somehow, Treville's *son* -- 

His *Amina-love's* son, after all these *years* -- 

Treville has to *tell* him -- 

But, first, he has to stop him from climbing down his *godson's* *trousers*. 

In, again, the middle of the street. 

Because -- "Porthos -- son." 

"Mm? Yeah, sir?" And Porthos looks up from where he's actually *nosing* at Athos's *collar* --

"Are you *sniffing* Athos?" 

"Well... yeah?"

Jason coughs around the words 'I told you so.' 

Aramis blinks and *looks* at Jason -- 

*Athos* blinks -- but not in very *much* surprise. He turns to Porthos. "Brother, if you're looking for traces of Aramis on me --" 

"I *really* am, brother --" 

"Most of those traces are on my hands, truly." 

"Oh, yeah? Good on *you*," Porthos says, unceremoniously taking Athos's left hand in his, bringing it to his face, and starting to nuzzle. 

It...

(You've *never* seen him do something like this before, amant...?) 

Look to his brothers, lover. 

(Mm, it's true that they're a *trifle* bemused, but --) 

*Only* a trifle; you're heard. Still -- Treville barks a call for attention -- 

And his boys look sharp, just the way they should. 

But did Porthos's eyes *gleam*, just then? For a moment? 

(They truly *did*...) 

*Jason*! What did you -- 

(I unlocked a door -- a *hidden* door --) 

Yes, I -- I *understand* the *mechanism* -- 

(I don't think you do, amant.) 

I -- 

(Once the door was open? Once you -- and your *dog* -- could *feel* Porthos and *his* dog --) 

We. We began to haul him out. Into the *light*. Oh fuck -- we can't wait to tell him all of this. We -- 

(We *must* not wait.) 

No, you're absolutely right. This -- 

"Don't worry about all that," Porthos says, breezy and unconcerned. "The Captain's just working something out with his Jason." 

"*Silently*, my Porthos?" 

"Yeah, love. They do that," Porthos says, and wraps an arm around Aramis's shoulders. "It must be bloody great for long, boring days stuck in the palaces and such." 

Aramis frowns -- 

Athos hums, straightening his leathers after Porthos's depredations. "My parents spoke of such things when they were alive, though my father seemed to mostly approve of the increase in --" 

"Intimacy," Treville -- blurts, not says, because -- 

Because Athos is right *here*, and -- 

"Your father loved the *intimacy*, son, and -- I still haven't gotten my hug," he says, and smiles wryly, opening his arms -- 

Athos raises an eyebrow. "Will we *discuss* what you have been discussing with your companion --" 

"At length and in depth, son -- just as soon as we're all *off the street*." 

Aramis raises an eyebrow of his own. "All of us, sir?" 

Treville waves his open arms. 

Just a little. 

Porthos snorts and *puts* Athos in range -- 

"Oh -- *Porthos* --" 

"Shut it, brother, it's for your own good," Porthos says, and then goes back to cuddling Aramis -- 

And Treville squeezes Athos *firmly* while he *can*. 

"Hm." 

"Yes, son?" 

"I always forget how *pleasant* this is." 

Treville hums and pets his beautiful godson. "Let's work on that, mm?" 

"I --" 

"Also? Happy birthday." 

"Thank --" 

"Shh, focus on being cuddled," Treville says, and pets more firmly. 

"I..." 

"Now. As I was saying," Treville says, and looks to *Aramis* -- 

"I am listening, sir," Aramis says, and he is absolutely using amusement and *calculation* to cover the various shocks he's feeling -- reeling from?

It bears thought.

For *now*: "The conversation Jason and I were having silently is, in fact, directly related to things we need to speak with all *three* of you about --" 

"Would you have wished to have this conversation with us had Porthos not gone to you tonight...?" And Aramis raises that eyebrow again -- 

Jason *hums* -- 

He always did appreciate a *contrary* bastard -- 

(And *you've* always appreciated a *mouthy* one.)

Very true. "Son, I..." Treville shakes his head -- 

*Regretfully* allows Athos to step out of his arms -- 

But not so far that he can't grip the man's shoulder. "The conversation Jason and I were having with Porthos in my office... made certain things clear, to us, that had not been clear before." 

Athos has an eyebrow up. 

Aramis's eyebrow is up even higher. 

Porthos has *two* eyebrows up and has lowered his chin -- 

And Jason -- 

Jason is laughing like an *arsehole*. 

Treville pinches the bridge of his nose. "All right, let me try *again*: I -- and Jason -- will be *blisteringly* and *painfully* clear about *everything* -- including the *myriad* *sexual* topics that have raised their sticky, slick, firm, and *mushrooming* heads --" 

Treville waits for the choking to die down a bit -- 

The wheezing and coughs -- 

Porthos's *big* laughter -- 

Oh, *Amina*...

(Your Aramis is looking at you *very* suspiciously again, amant...) 

Mm. He always has been *exactly* too smart for his own good, Treville says, and looks to Aramis with one eyebrow up. "Everything, Aramis. *Everything*." 

"This... you are making this a promise," Aramis says, and it's less a question than a *challenge*. 

Treville inclines his head -- and he can see Jason doing the exact same thing. Still... "As *thorough* as Porthos's introduction of you *was*, lover..." Treville raises an eyebrow. 

Jason laughs quietly -- and then bows to Treville's boys with just a *hint* of a flourish. "Jason Blood. I am an immortal blood-, fire-, and shadow-mage; I have known your Captain for a little over a year and a half; we have been lovers, brothers, and *allies* for nearly the *entirety* of that period; and I would like for you all to consider me to be at your service."

Porthos nods judiciously -- 

Athos's eyebrow disappears under his *fringe* -- 

And -- 

"And why is this...?" Aramis's eyes are all but *glittering* -- "*Why* should we consider you to be at our service?" 

Jason hums. "Because I am, Aramis -- and because I *have* been since your Captain began sharing you -- all of you -- with me." 

Blinks all *around*, really, and -- Treville *can* be helpful. "Sons, Jason is *exceedingly* invested in caring for and *protecting* the people he loves -- and everyone *they* love," he says, and raises his eyebrows. 

Athos's *blush* disappears under his fringe -- 

Porthos beams just as doggishly as he *should* -- 

And Aramis, bless him, looks *affronted*. 

"Son --" 

"*Sir*. You have not -- *we* have not --" 

Treville raises a hand. "We haven't had a single one of the conversations we *ought* to have had about this sort of thing --" 

"*Yes* --" 

"And we will *continue* to fail to have them --" 

"*No* --" 

"-- while we remain two *yards* away from the front door of an exceedingly busy *tavern*, son," Treville says, and raises an eyebrow *pointedly*. 

At *all* of his boys. 

And waits for them to put some thought -- some deep and *critical* thought -- into just how drunk they all are. 

(How *much* time will this take, do you think...?) 

Not long, lover. They're *my* boys. 

Jason sighs. (I'm going to be heartbroken if France ever runs out of Musketeers, I believe.) 

I -- 

"Wait. Wait," Porthos says, and frowns thunderously. 

"Yes, my Porthos?" Aramis is also frowning. "I..." 

"Hm. I believe..." Athos's expression speaks of bleak winters and crushing, abject failures. "I believe we're not thinking as clearly about all of this as we should. The three of us, I mean." 

"Yeah, mate, I --" 

"Wait," Aramis says, and frowns more deeply.

"Mm? What is it, love?" And Porthos caresses Aramis's cheek -- 

Kisses Aramis's forehead -- 

Gazes deeply into Aramis's eyes -- 

And Aramis... well. 

(We may have lost him entirely, amant.) 

There's still some hope. 

(Are you *quite* sure --) 

Watch this. "Athos, son, clear your throat."

"I --" 

"Go on, son." 

"Hm. All right," Athos says, and obeys, making it just as martial and *effortlessly* commanding as Laurent always had, and -- 

Porthos is *abruptly* ready to commit at least seven different acts of beautifully horrific violence, judging by his stance and *focus* -- 

*Aramis* has moved to *flank*, arquebusier in one hand and throwing-knife in the other -- 

And Athos has an eyebrow up. 

*At* Treville. Which -- 

"Yes, it *was* necessary, son. Ask Aramis what he was about to say a moment ago." 

"What -- ah. I suppose... that I did become distracted," Aramis says, blushing as he puts up his weapons -- 

Porthos gives himself a *shake* -- "Sorry about that, sir, Jason --" 

"It's *quite* all right. We *understand*," Jason says. 

Aramis *looks* at Jason. 

Treville snorts. "You were *saying*, son? Perhaps something about how *magnificently* inebriated you all are?" 

Aramis narrows those incredible eyes of his -- at *both* him and Jason, and, really, if he were a fire-mage, they'd both be feeling their bollocks-hair crisping at the moment. 

(You have *excellent* taste in children, amant.) 

That's *right*, Treville says, and sighs happily. "You keep thinking on that, son," he says, and turns to Athos and Porthos. "How about you boys?" 

"I am *absolutely* irresponsibly drunk, sir," Porthos says, nodding and smiling. "Which is not to say I couldn't be *somewhat* drunker. Eh, mate?" 

Athos shrugs using *only* his facial muscles -- 

"Yeah, that," Porthos says, and reels Aramis back against him with an arm around his waist -- 

"My *Porthos* --" 

"Love. You're *exactly* drunk enough to be *indiscriminately* pissy. Aren't you." 

"'Pissy' -- and I am very discriminating!" 

"Are you *sure*," Porthos says, and lowers his chin. 

"*Yes*. I am *entirely* capable of complex and *accurate* problem-solving and decision-making --" 

"Such as -- and this is only an example, you understand," Jason says, and his eyes are *sparkling* -- "*Molesting* your Captain's god*son* in the middle of a *very* public thoroughfare --" 

"I." 

"-- and then, once *caught* by your Captain -- and your Captain's unknowably powerful companion, but we'll just leave that *aside* --" 

"I..." 

"-- *immediately* beginning to brass your Captain -- and his, again, unknowably powerful companion -- *off*, being as mouthy and belligerent as *possible* --" 

"Oh, lover, no, he can be *much* mouthier than this," Treville says, and rests a hand on his belt. 

"Oh, yes? Mm. Well. I stand corrected," Jason says, and turns back to Aramis. "Still...?" 

Aramis's expression is curdling like a bowl of cream which has been forcibly introduced to vinegar. 

Athos shoots his brother a *worried* look before aiming a rather more pointed one at *Treville*. 

Porthos...

Porthos is sniffing Aramis. 

(And petting him, amant.) 

I -- 

(And -- yes, he has, indeed, begun licking him.) 

"Right, sons, enough fucking about. Here's the situation: One, you're all pissed as peddlers, and that's getting in the way of your ability to think as clearly as I *need* you to think for the next little while -- though, for the record, Aramis? I will *never* mind you kicking up with me when it won't put any of us in hot water." 

"Oh --" 

"I feel *precisely* the same way," Jason says, and smiles gently. 

"You were simply putting Aramis on the spot because you *could*, Monsieur Blood?" 

"Oh, Athos -- if I may call you that -- you will find that I've picked up any number of terrible habits from your godfather." 

Treville snorts -- 

Jason grins. "I have, of course, picked up countless more simply from *existing* for somewhere over six hundred *years*." 

"I... hm." 

"Quite. But you were saying, amant?" 

Treville gives Jason's queue a yank -- 

Jason laughs *delightedly* -- 

And Treville gives himself *just* a moment to enjoy it before turning back to his boys. "Two," he says, and gives them all a wry look. "You're all going to have to come with me and Jason *somewhere* so that we can say what needs to be said in *private*. I'm inclined to bring you all to my rooms here in Paris --" 

"*Really*?" 

"*Yes*, Porthos. They're close, *reasonably* close to where all of you actually *live* -- even you, Athos, and don't think I haven't noticed that you've chosen to live in the tenement equivalent of a *midden* --" 

"I..." 

"In *any* event, sons -- Jason? Can also get us -- all of us -- there near-instantaneously." 

They're all blinking for that -- 

Looking thoughtful... 

"I would like to know the mechanism of this!" 

Oh, Aramis... Treville hums and turns to Jason, who looks positively rapacious at the chance to teach. 

(You shut it.) 

Never, lover -- 

(Hmph.) "I am, as I've said, a *shadow-mage*, Aramis. Shadows are not wholly of one plane of existence or another. They are of *all* planes and *none*, simultaneously, and, thus, a shadow-mage with power and training --" 

"Can move *between* the planes -- yes, I see this thing! Please, demonstrate!" And Aramis has lit up like a *child* -- 

He's nodding and tugging himself away from Porthos in order to get *closer* to Jason again --

He may or may *not* be aware that he's actually reaching *out* -- 

(Hm. Perhaps we can take them all to *my* home...?) 

The home you haven't shown me in a year and a *half*, Jason? 

(I...) 

The home you've said has a tendency to -- and I'm quoting you -- *eat the sentient*?

(...I have only myself to blame for leaving spring cleaning for so long.) 

That you do, lover. Treville checks --

Athos and Porthos are gazing at their Aramis with a blend of amusement, adoration, and joy. An Aramis in the middle of studying something -- *anything* -- new is an Aramis who blazes with his own light always -- 

"But you must say more!" 

"I will *show* you more, Aramis --" 

"Oh, yes!" 

"I will show you -- all of you -- *much* more," Jason says, and raises two fingers. "But." 

"No, *no* buts --" 

"*But*, sons," Treville says, and *looks* at his boys until they manage to focus on him again -- 

"Yeah, sir?" And Porthos lifts his nose --

(Did those adorable little ears just perk...?) 

His mother's were *exactly* the same, and -- no. Not yet. "Sons. I'm about to ask my goddess --" 

"I!" 

"That's the All-Mother, Aramis," Porthos says. "You know, I told you some --" 

"But." 

Porthos's tongue is peeking in a *slyly* doggish smile. "Somebody didn't *believe* me..." 

"You don't know, Porthos. He may have simply been *ignoring* your sermons in favour of preaching us more of his own," Athos says, and *his* sly smile is much more human. 

Aramis, for his part, looks -- and smells -- *exceedingly* stricken, which means -- 

Yes, Porthos is cuddling him again -- 

And petting him -- 

And *licking* him -- 

Treville gives up. "Men. *Three*: In just a moment, I'm going to ask the All-Mother to sober us all *up* --" 

"*Oi* --" 

"Shut it and keep licking, son." 

"I -- wait --" 

"Oh, dear," Jason says. "I believe Aramis is *frowning*." 

Porthos whines --

Athos coughs -- 

Aramis makes *some* muffled sound or another -- and, if he *is* frowning, he's damned well doing it into Porthos's armpit. 

"Right, then. The All-Mother will make us sober enough to *travel through Jason's shadows*." 

"Oh. That's all right then," Porthos says -- or possibly something else; he's chewing Aramis's hair. 

That... hm. I can't help but wonder...

(Yes, I see.) "Porthos, you know, it occurs to me that Athos has been frowning for whole *minutes*..." 

Porthos looks up, eyes wide and wild and *flaring* green -- 

Athos looks frantically for an *escape* route -- 

But, well, Porthos has the speed and strength of a shifter now -- and he *absolutely* has an armpit for each brother.

Treville sighs. "Good job, son." 

Whatever Porthos says to that is utterly incomprehensible, but obviously joyful. 

"I want art," Jason says. 

"We'll hire a family portraitist," Treville says, opening himself to the All-Mother -- 

Who is *overjoyed* to see that he's found *their* son -- 

Who was a beautiful seed who has blossomed just as he should have -- 

And who will blossom even more under Treville's and Jason's love and care -- 

And who will visit *with* Treville and Jason -- 

Soon -- 

If Treville and Jason know what's *good* for them -- 

Treville *coughs* -- Anything you say, Mother -- 

The All-Mother *reams* him with love, affection, power, and *sobriety* -- 

*Fuck* -- I -- yes. That. Was what. I wanted... 

She fills him with an *abundance* of amusement... and patience. 

Treville takes a breath -- 

Adjusts himself in his *trousers* -- 

Jason is laughing like an *arsehole* -- 

"Shouldn't you be fellating a warthog or something?"

"Bite your tongue, amant. You know I've never been able to tolerate those soft, gentle, *sophisticated* lovers." 

"That's *right* -- wait." Treville grins at his perfect lover -- 

Jason grins right back -- 

And Porthos is, by the sound of it, spluttering *directly* into his brothers' hair, so that's fine. 

Treville returns his attention to his *goddess* -- Could you... maybe? And he gestures spiritually to his wonderful boys. 

The All-Mother checks him *thoroughly* to make sure he only wants to sober them up for their own *safety* -- 

I promise to get them good and blotto on your delicious and helpful children as soon as *possible*, Mother -- 

(And I will *help* -- oh, dear --) 

And that would be the sound of the All-Mother turning her loving attentions on Jason -- 

(*Fuck* --) 

Vigorously -- 

But, well, going by the shaking and moaning and swaying happening over *there*... She's also got his boys well in hand. 

They may just get home before dawn, at this rate.


	5. Some of that booze is from, like, magical kingdoms between the spheres which you can only reach by murdering the terrifying, god-like beasts who protect them. Jason? Doesn't fuck around when he does the shopping for his parties.

It was just a *bit* harrowing to get Aramis through Jason's shadows without him wandering all over the spheres -- and, possibly, all through the spaces around, under, and *between* them -- 

In the end, it had come down to Porthos giving him a yank by that ridiculous belt of his while *Treville* had flat-out *shoved* him through -- 

And Porthos had been able to *see* Aramis's bloody spirit stretching out in about a *million* directions in there as his mind *took* him in a million directions -- 

But now they're here, in a very nice-looking study, and Jason has just lit a fire by gesturing at the fireplace *grandly*, and Treville is drinking like he's getting paid for it, and Athos is shaking Aramis kind of a lot. 

Which. 

It'll be *his* turn next. For now, he can take the bottle from Treville and *watch* Athos do the shaking.

"My *brother* --" 

"*Aramis*. What were you *thinking*?" 

"I wanted to *see*, Athos --" 

"See *what*?" 

"*Everything*! All of the mysteries which have only ever been hinted at and --" 

"Brother," Athos says, and that was his quiet voice. His *dangerous* voice, and -- 

And, now that Porthos is paying attention with each and every one of his senses -- he frankly hasn't *felt* this sober and clear and everything *else* *ever* ---

Well, that's Athos's bloody terrified voice, too. 

Porthos hands the bottle back to Treville and moves to give his brothers some *support* -- 

He can see Treville and Jason nodding in approval out of the corner of his eye -- 

And he can see Aramis -- blinking. 

Staring. 

*Obviously* coming to a few important *realizations*. 

Porthos cups the back of Aramis's neck. 

"I... I frightened you. Both of --" 

"*All* of us," Jason says, and takes a long drink. "I knew that I would *probably* be able to retrieve *most* of your spirit if Porthos and Treville hadn't been able to snatch you from the jaws of the *myriad* creatures who had latched onto you when you chose to go against my instructions and look *around* --" 

"I..." 

"When you chose to do so *while* Jason was busy holding the path open for us so *all* of us could move through safely, son," Treville says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Aramis winces hard. "M'sieu Blood could not stop me at the time... because if he had done so, he would have endangered *all* of you -- I." Aramis shakes his head and steps back, away -- 

"Love --" 

"*Brother* --" 

"Do *not*." 

"*Love*, don't even think about pulling *away* from us!" 

"I do not *deserve* --" 

Porthos *yanks* Aramis in close again, *putting* him between Athos and himself. "You deserve a good, solid smack to the head and several *remedial* lessons in Why It's Important To Listen To The Ridiculously Powerful Not-Evil Mages You Meet." 

"I -- hm." Aramis turns to Athos -- 

Athos's eyebrows are hidden under that fringe in that way that tends to mean he's yelling *very* loudly about something *very* important. 

Aramis winces *again* -- and nods. "Yes... I. Yes," he says, and bows, as much as Porthos is letting him, to *all* of them. "Please. I wish to make amends." 

Jason raises an eyebrow. "It would be an *excellent* start if you would tell me *why* you thought I would not *give* you more information -- all the information you ever came to *wish* -- about this mode of travel." 

Aramis's expression turns rueful. "Perhaps..." Aramis shrugs lightly. "Perhaps M'sieu Blood has not had very *much* experience with the educational institutions founded by Mother Church... and their attitudes toward the curiosity of the young. Or... the curiosity of anyone, at all." 

"Oh, murdering *boggarts*," Jason says, and takes the bottle back from Treville. 

Treville wags his head. "I *definitely* should've seen that one coming. *I* apologize to *all* of you," he says, walking to the cabinet in the far corner of the room and pulling out another bottle -- which he promptly hands to Aramis.

Aramis blinks at Treville a little *dimly* -- "Sir...?" 

Treville smiles wryly. "You told me... a fair amount about where you came from in your initial *interview*, son." 

"Not -- not so *much* --" 

"Son. You *first* tested my *fitness* to be your Captain by telling me, point blank, that you had -- and I quote -- '*escaped* the seminary your blood-father *imprisoned* you in' and then *watching* me like a *hawk* to see just what I'd *do* with that knowledge." 

"Ah..." 

Treville raises an eyebrow. 

And then Porthos can smell -- almost *taste* -- Aramis pulling on every last bit of his *fire* -- 

Aramis licks his *teeth* -- 

Athos takes his first deep breath since they'd *gotten* here -- and turns his head to *almost* hide a smile -- 

Jason sets up in a *casual* lean against the fireplace, drinking with one hand and dabbling the fingers of the other hand in the *blaze* -- 

And Treville crosses his arms over his chest. "All right, son. Hit me." 

Aramis *flashes* a smile -- 

Tosses his *hair* -- 

"Sir. If you had not proved your fitness to me in *many* ways *before* my initial interview...? We would not have *had* an initial interview." 

"Well, now *I'm* desperately -- *recklessly* -- curious," Jason says, and licks *his* teeth *at* Aramis -- 

Aramis coughs into his fist. "Ah. Yes, M'sieu?" 

"*How* did mon amant prove his worth to you, mm? What did you *see*... before you saw *him*." 

"That's a damned good question, mate," Porthos says, and nuzzles at Aramis's hairline a little. "What was it, eh? All I remember of you that first day --" 

"You remember my first *day*?" 

Porthos snorts. "Aramis. I remember you buying a pastry *outside* the garrison. Before you walked *in*. I remember *exactly* what I was thinking while you were doing it --" 

"I..." 

"Because? I *never* forget my filthiest wank fantasies." 

"You." 

Treville is spluttering -- 

Jason is laughing hard -- 

Athos is wagging his head *judiciously* -- 

And Aramis looks like he's staring at something *fascinating* behind his eyes , so -- 

"In *any* event," Porthos says, "all I remember of what you were actually *doing* before the Captain called you in was you watching the *younger* cadets train. You looked so serious and focused about it all -- so *intellectual* --"

"I..." 

"You truly did, brother," Athos says. "I remember being struck by it. It was a remarkably *thoughtful* approach from someone who clearly had not had very much experience with swordplay." 

"Yeah, that! But mostly, you know, it made my wank fantasies a lot more *brutal* --" 

"My Porthos." 

"Yeah, love?" 

"I..." 

"Mm?" 

"How many fantasies of me did you *have* before you knew my *name*?" 

Porthos opens his mouth -- 

"Brother," Athos *chides*. "Do you truly wish to force our brother to do quite so much higher maths?" 

Porthos snorts *hard* -- 

*Jason* is laughing again, but also looks like he's maybe gotten some *questions* answered somewhere in there -- which. Being as how he, Athos, *and* Treville all know at least a *little* about the hell Aramis went through in Church schools as a boy -- 

And being as how Jason has flat-out said, from the beginning, that he was *invested* in learning what there *was* to learn about the people Treville cared most about -- yeah, Jason knows, too. 

And all of it is *absolutely* the sort of hell, the sort of *torture*, to make any man -- any *person* -- right focused on making sure *other* young people are cared for -- and educated -- properly.

Porthos nods to himself while Treville ruffles Athos's *hair* -- 

Athos *grins* -- 

But Aramis still looks -- and smells -- frustrated. He... hm. 

Porthos leans in to sniff him a little better, try to maybe see if he can get a better idea...

Treville laughs -- "Oh, son, *son*. Would you. Would you maybe like to know *why* you've been sniffing your brothers all night?" 

"Mm? They're good-smelling people, sir." 

Treville *stares* at him. 

Jason *guffaws* -- 

"And I wanted to say," Porthos says, "you've got some *excellent* laughs, mate." 

"Thank -- thank you -- but. Do you sniff your brothers all the *time*?" 

"Well... yeah? I mean, I know it's maybe a little odd, and... hunh. I guess I *have* been doing it more often than usual tonight..." Porthos frowns. 

Thinks about it... 

Thinks *hard* -- 

And Treville tugs him away from his brothers, slowly and gently, before reaching up to cup his shoulders. "Are you thinking, perhaps, about how much more *information* you've been getting from sniffing your brothers tonight, son...?" 

"Yeah... and -- and *you*. And -- I've got to say, mate," Porthos says, turning to Jason, "you're an *ominous*-smelling man, but I'm not going to hold that against you, at all." 

"Thank you *very* --" 

"I mean, you remind me a *lot* of Yejide -- the death- and pain-mage who took care of me and mine after my mum died. She's... well. Ominous is kind of what she *does*. Treville trusts you, and that's more than enough for *me* -- though, you know, if you ever *wanted* to talk more about your life or your magery or anything --" 

"I would very much like to listen! To all of it!" And Aramis has *that* mad smile on his face. Not the murdery smile, and not the smile that always makes Porthos think of *sticky* things, but the smile that means -- without a *doubt* -- that Aramis has gotten access to a *big* library somewhere, and that he means to make it open its doors to *all* of them, at all hours, for at least the next forty years. 

Athos smiles at Aramis with *open* affection -- "Aramis." 

"My brother, do you *not* wish to know more? More and more and *all* there is to *know*?" 

Athos raises an eyebrow. "Being as how Monsieur Blood is over six hundred years *old*, I find myself doubtful that we will be *able* to --" 

"My brother, I have never known you to limit yourself so --" 

"Aramis." 

"Brother, you must not *quell* me so *cruelly* --" 

Porthos snorts. "Try nipping his ear and growling a little, eh, Athos? That makes him go really *still*." 

"I." 

"I... my Porthos." 

"Yeah, love?" 

Aramis frowns. "I. Loath as I am to *interrupt* this conversation..." And he turns to Athos.

Athos licks his lips and nods slowly. 

Porthos lifts his nose. "Brothers? What is it?" 

"I... Porthos," Athos says, and nods to Treville and Jason. "I believe we would like to -- finally -- *allow* Treville and Monsieur Blood to tell us... whatever it is they *need* to tell us. I. I strongly suspect that it has *something* to do with why you are... responding to all of us the way you have been, tonight." 

Porthos frowns, but... 

He *has* been doing things differently. 

It. "It's all felt... completely normal --" 

"Brother --" 

"No, no, you're heard, Athos, I promise. I just --" Porthos licks his lips. "Nothing has felt *odd* or *different*. It's just been perfectly natural to... reach for you all *this* way. Like. Uh." 

"Like a dog, son," Treville says, squeezing his shoulders again and leading him over to the long and moderately well-used couch opposite the fire. 

He urges Porthos to sit, right in the middle, and then crouches in front of him. 

"Son... I've tried, for the past couple of hours, to come up with *any* halfway reasonable way to start saying what I need to say to you..." 

"Sir...?" 

"What I need to have you *hear* in front of your *brothers* so that they can *be* there for you --" 

"What..." But Aramis doesn't finish that thought. He just shoots a look at Athos -- and then they're *both* moving to the couch, and flanking Porthos.

Treville nods. "Good boys, all of you," he says, and -- "Jason --" 

"Oh, yes," Jason says, and puts bottles in *all* of their hands before starting to stroke and pet Treville. His head, his ear, down to his shoulder --

Athos looks at the bottle in his hand... and then raises an eyebrow at Treville *slowly*. 

Treville snorts. "Son, if you think for even a *moment* that this will stop me from dressing you down for the drinking you do when I *can't* keep you safe...?" 

Athos hums. "As you say," he says, and drinks like the professional he is. 

Treville smiles at him warmly -- and then turns back to Porthos, looking him over. 

Looking him up and down and -- 

Looking into him. 

Looking into him so thoroughly, so *deeply*, that it almost feels like Porthos should be able to *reach* for him, should be able to *touch* him the way he'd been able to touch his Mum, right at the end. And -- 

And then he's thinking about it, feeling about it, feeling it so clearly, so *perfectly* -- 

He's right *there* in his mind, his *soul* -- better than he has been since he'd *had* his Mum to *help*.

She'd bitten him so she could better give him her magic, so she could pour it right into him, *protect* him the way the death-mage who was *draining* her -- and he hadn't understood that *then*, but Yejide had told him later -- had kept her from protecting *herself*. 

He could *feel* his Mum, everything *about* her, all her love for him, all her *need* for him, and her need for him to grow up safe and strong, happy and brave, bold and *free*. 

He could feel that, somewhere out in the world beyond the Court of Miracles, there was a man hidden from them by dark magic, a man *they* were hidden from, a man *she* considered his true father, and that *that* was the man she wanted him to be and be *with*, and that the most important part of the man, other than the way his heart ran as deep and wide as the *ocean*, was his *laughter*. 

He could feel his *Mum*, always his *Mum*, and he'd made every promise he'd known how to make, including the one about *finding* that man, that true father, and he'd tried to keep touching her, tried so hard to keep *touching* her, to keep *holding* her, but she was fading -- 

Fading so -- 

And reaching for her had been like reaching for smoke, like the mist on the cold and wet mornings, the *grey* mornings, and there was nothing -- 

Nothing -- 

But then there's a *grip* on him, inside and out, a *powerful* grip that won't let him see anything, feel anything -- 

(Just me, son. Here,) *Treville* says, and suddenly he's looking at Mum's smiling face -- 

Laughing-smiling-beaming --

And then he's looking at the rest of her, and her beautiful, bright scarf -- the best one, where the suns are just like flowers, or maybe the other way round -- is just a little askew -- 

And her wrap-dress is hiked up over her *knees* -- 

Because she's *dancing* -- 

She's not wearing any *shoes* -- 

She's. 

She's dancing with *Treville*, and they're in a kitchen tiny enough that they're in danger of knocking over the furniture every time Treville spins her -- 

And Treville's wearing nothing but a loosened shirt and trousers -- 

His hair looks *exactly* like *someone's* hands have been running through it all *night* -- 

He spins her close -- 

She lolls her *tongue* -- 

Oh -- 

She wags her head *teasingly* and dances away, away into the dimness of the flat, and Porthos can't see, he can't --

Treville laughs *hard* and *follows* -- 

And Porthos *gasps* because he can feel that grip on him again, that *powerful* grip that reaches right down to his soul, right down to where he's bloody *made*, because -- "You're. You're my -- father," Porthos says, and opens his eyes. And *looks* at Treville -- 

Treville's eyes are wide and *damp* -- 

He *swallows* -- 

Jason is petting Treville *firmly* -- it. 

Wait -- Porthos looks to Athos, to Aramis -- "Do you -- could you see --" 

Athos shivers. "We -- saw." 

"Yes, my Porthos," Aramis says, cupping Porthos's face and kissing his cheek. 

"*One* of the reasons why I agreed to allow all of you to travel via my shadows tonight was that it allowed me to build, among us, a small, shallow, and temporary connection. I used that, Porthos, to share what you were seeing -- and a little of what you were experiencing -- with your brothers," Jason says, while studying Porthos closely.

Porthos swallows and -- "I -- thank you. Thank you." 

"You need not thank --" 

"We appreciate this *much*, M'sieu Blood," Aramis says -- 

"Yes, we do. There can be no greater gift than one which facilitates brotherhood," *Athos* says. "Please. You must tell us if there is anything *we* can do for *you*." 

"*Yes*, M'sieu." 

And Porthos is still not -- not *breathing* right, but -- he has to nod for that.

Jason... 

Well, he looks a mite stunned, to be honest. 

"All right there, lover?" 

"I..." 

Treville snickers like a boy, and doesn't do a damned thing about the tears rolling down his cheeks. 

Jason swats the back of his head -- "You *shut* it, amant --" 

Treville laughs *harder* -- "Just tell them what you *really* want, lover." 

They *all* perk for that, but -- 

"Yes, Monsieur Blood? There *is* something?" And Athos's eyebrows are up again.

Jason smiles ruefully. "If... perhaps if *all* of you would call me, simply, *Jason*. That would be... perfectly wonderful." 

Athos inhales sharply -- "As you say... Jason." 

"Names are *important* things, Jason," Aramis says. "This is known." 

"I uh. I'll probably keep calling you all kinds of things, mate. But Jason is good, too," Porthos says, and tries to grin --

"Oh, son, don't rush yourself," Treville says, and grips Porthos by the thighs. 

"I'm -- I just want --" 

"Shh. You're not going to recover from this news in an instant, son. You *can't*. *No* one could --" 

"*You* bloody did!" 

"No. I didn't," Treville says, low and serious. "I've been... distracting myself with you and your brothers and Jason all night. Distracting myself from the memories of my Amina-love's *scents* -- and her scents when she was *pregnant* with you. Distracting myself from the memories of your *caterwauling* when we finally got you *out* of your mother -- you were *exactly* as big a baby as you might expect, and you were not *happy* about leaving your former home --" 

Porthos *coughs* -- 

Treville hums. "Your mother dislocated two of my fingers that night while she was bearing down, son. I never got the chance to rib her about that. I..." He shakes his head. "I spent *years* catching up to myself about that, son." 

"I... what?" 

"Years thinking about how *excruciatingly* painful it had been to put my fingers back where they belonged, and then *hold* them there until my power could heal them enough to make them stay on their own. Thinking about how I had to *quickly* work up the courage to give my hand *back* to your mother, just in case she needed to squeeze *again*... all of that. And I would make up... oh, a whole *narrative* about it. I would work out just the way to phrase this part, and that part. I would set your mother up to say something that she would of *course* say, and I would have *just* the right response to it to make her... 

"Make her shake the *rafters* with her laughter," Treville says, and swallows again. 

"Oh... sir," Porthos says, and covers Treville's big hand with his own. "You. You would get through all that... and then realize you wouldn't be able to tell her, at all. That you *still* wouldn't be able to tell her, even though you'd waited all those years, and --" Porthos stops, and swallows, too. 

"That, son. That *right* there," Treville says, and twines their fingers together. "And it's all been coming back, one memory after another, and I have spent the past few hours *ruthlessly* shoving it all back... with the help of all of you." 

"You -- you shouldn't have to *do* that, sir --" 

"Nor should you, son," Treville says, and squeezes Porthos's hand. "I would like for you to *continue* sharing yourself with your brothers -- I *know* you've already been doing wonderfully with that. I know..." Treville shakes his head and smiles ruefully. "I've *watched* you, son. All three of you. You boys are my *heart*," he says, and looks to all of them in turn. "But you, Porthos... you have to know your mother and I spoke about it." 

"About what, sir?" 

"*Our* tendency to say *none* of the important things until it was either *almost* too late -- or *much* too late. We *both* tended to assume we were being blindingly obvious about everything in our minds and hearts even when, truly, we had no *reason* to assume such things. And it hurt us." 

Porthos winces -- 

He can *see* his brothers and Jason doing the same thing, but -- 

Porthos nods. "Mum was... she was always really clear about that, sir. About -- well. She *hammered* it into me that I had to always say what I meant, what I wanted, what I needed, what I was *thinking*. That I had to *ask* the people I *cared* about to do the same things, and -- and that I'd know I had the *right* people in my life when I found myself surrounded by people who *did* tell me things." 

"That's *right*, son --" 

"I -- hm." 

"Mm? What is it, Athos?" 

Athos frowns *deeply*. 

"I..."

Porthos checks -- 

Aramis looks *pained*. 

"Brothers? What's wrong?" 

"My Porthos... I... would like to apologize." 

"Yes, that," Athos says. 

"Uhh. For what?" 

Athos and Aramis lean past Porthos and share a look -- 

Nod -- 

Lean back -- "My Porthos, we would like to *sincerely* apologize for... ah. Lies," Aramis says, and drinks. 

"And silence," Athos says, and drinks.

"And --" Aramis waves a hand very expressively -- "Lies which *invited* silence," he says, and drinks more. 

"Mm. Not to mention the silence which invited lies," Athos says, and drinks downright passionately. 

Porthos wags his head. "All right, you're both forgiven," he says, and drinks. To catch up, like. 

Treville is smiling at them all fondly. 

Jason --

Jason is exhaling bloody smoke into a bloody *love*-knot, so Porthos feels justified in drinking more. 

He's got a *lot* more questions, but they can wait. 

(That's right, son. Take your time...)


	6. A *what*, now?

Athos is having a curious thought. 

It's the sort of thought -- 

It's a thought which is in the same *category* as the sorts of thoughts which he tends to try to *drown* in as much alcohol as possible, lest they *stab* him -- 

He *had* been well on his way to doing just that before Treville's goddess had forcibly *scrubbed* him -- but. 

He had not, truly, needed his father's admonition -- when he was a recently *healed* thirteen-year-old, recovering from one of his very first opportunities to spar with his father with *steel* -- 

("Son. It is rarely the best of ideas to meet deities who mean one well with a heart full of *resentment*." 

"And what of the ones who mean us poorly, Sir?" 

"Hm. Perhaps we will do our best to limit our meetings with deities as much as -- humanly -- possible." 

"Yes, Sir.") 

He will not allow himself to resent the All-Mother for the gift of sobriety, especially since it had come *with* a healing that has left him feeling strong, vital, sure, *content*, and -- 

And he is having the *most* curious thought that he is having a *happy* birthday. 

There, he's thought it. 

He's thought it, and nothing terrible has happened -- 

Nothing -- nothing *more* terrible -- 

No. He need not think of -- any of that. Treville and Jason have gone to discuss the night's dispositions with the servants -- or, more properly, with Alaire, the former quartermaster who controls absolutely everything about *all* of Treville's properties. In this moment, he and his brothers are alone in Treville's study -- 

Still on the couch -- 

And Porthos is -- beside him, warm and real and *true* as he always has been --

Warm in every *way* -- 

He has one hand twined with Athos's, and -- 

And there is also no need to wallow in terrible things here in one of Treville's *homes*, and they've always been homes for him, as well, always -- 

Treville has *made* them homes for him, for everyone Athos has ever *cared* for -- but he doesn't have to think of that, either. 

He can think about the fact that Treville is giving him -- all of them -- the chance to know another of his brothers, and while this brother is rather more strange and *distressingly* powerful -- 

And British -- 

\-- than what Athos has become accustomed to with Treville -- 

While Athos never would have *expected* Treville to have a brother like Jason Blood... well. In this moment, it truly feels more like a failure of imagination on his part than like anything more ominous. 

And -- 

And there is Aramis. 

Aramis, who is, in this *particular* moment, *petting* Porthos's curls while Porthos rumbles *blissfully* --

Periodically, Aramis will *tug* Porthos's curls just so, and Porthos will squeeze Athos's hand just a little more firmly -- 

("We are both *in* love with you --")

Aramis... had been honest with him tonight. 

There is no part of Athos -- no. There are *many* parts of Athos which wish to attack that statement, which wish to fill him with doubt, with fear, with -- 

With the terror and *shame* which fills the vast majority of the waking moments he spends neither abjectly drunk nor deeply involved in one mission or another -- but. 

Aramis had been honest. 

Athos is, in *this* moment, unable to doubt his instincts about the man -- 

About *both* of his brothers, because Porthos has *always* had *precisely* as much ability -- and *desire* -- to dissemble with the people he cares for most as the average dog -- 

And because *Aramis* may as well have spent the past year *training* Athos *and* Porthos in all the ways to *know* when he is lying, when he is -- merely -- dissembling, when he is being honest, and, at the last, when he is sharing the deepest truths of his heart. 

He -- 

He has *given* these things to both of them, and Athos has wanted to ask -- countless *times* -- if he had truly *meant* to do so, if he was *certain* that he wished to leave such a deadly weapon where just anyone could -- 

But. 

But, of course, the weapon had only ever been for him, and Porthos. 

And, now, Athos *can* ask. 

He -- 

Perhaps he can ask... anything, at all. 

Perhaps... 

Perhaps he can ask *both* of his brothers absolutely *everything*, because. Because it was never simply pity, or the companionship of a truly well-functioning military unit, or *casual* camaraderie. It *was* friendship -- and he'd never known something so *bright* when he was a boy! Never -- not even Thomas, his beautiful and *confusing* and *maddening* and *beloved* --

They had never managed to make a friendship out of their brotherhood, for all that they had made other things. 

They had never -- no. No. Athos can and *does* push the thoughts *aside* for now, just -- away. 

*Away*, because what he has had with Aramis and Porthos was always friendship, and it still *is*, and --

And now it's even more than that. 

Athos squeezes Porthos's hand helplessly -- 

Porthos rumbles even more *vigorously* -- 

"Ah, yes, my Porthos? Is our Athos being *sneakily* affectionate?" 

"Don't judge him, son," Treville says, walking back into the room with Jason beside him. 

"No? Why not?" And Aramis continues to play with Porthos's curls -- 

Treville hums and smiles at all of them -- 

*Jason* hums and *gestures* -- and a tray of what certainly seems to be well-spiced and expertly-prepared meats of various sorts follows the path of his moving hand out of nothingness... and settles, on a cushion of shadows, in front of Porthos. 

"Right, well, I like you even more now, mate," Porthos says, squeezing Aramis's thigh firmly and then using that hand to dig in. 

"Remember, son -- you -- and the spirit-dog who is *rapidly* settling himself within you -- are going to need a *great* deal of meat," Treville says. "Expect *dire* consequences should you starve yourselves." 

Porthos pauses with a morsel of what seems to be pheasant prepared with honey and cloves lifted *nearly* to his lips. "Uhh... how..." He frowns. "I mean, you may have *noticed* that I'm bloody *poor*, sir."

"Not anymore, son," Treville says, and *looks* at Porthos. 

A silence awkward enough to be Athos's own fault falls over the room as Porthos blinks rapidly and *stares* at -- 

His father. 

His *father*, who is staring right *back*, and that... well. Hm. 

Perhaps Athos can be of assistance with this? He squeezes Porthos's hand firmly -- 

Porthos squeezes *back* -- and flares his nostrils. "Athos, I -- I just --" 

"Brother. I believe you would have *one* thing to say to someone -- anyone -- offered the opportunity to be closer to someone with whom they shared mutual care, admiration, respect, and every *positive* aspect of filial emotion." 

Porthos opens his mouth -- 

Closes it to frown thoughtfully -- 

Nods slowly -- and takes a breath. "Right you are, brother," he says, squeezing Athos's hand *and* stroking over the back of it with his long, powerful thumb. He nods to Treville. "I will *absolutely* eat you out of house and home, sir. Though uh... at *some* point we actually have to *talk* about all the other things between us. *Among* us." 

Treville laughs softly -- his eyes are red-rimmed, but he is no longer weeping. "Anything, son. At any time." 

Porthos nods again and goes back to eating -- 

And Jason is giving Porthos a marveling look -- before turning that look on *him*. 

Athos raises an eyebrow and takes a morsel of pork prepared with what seems to be cinnamon and pears. 

Jason hums. "Athos... you do *realize* that you put your brother firmly on the road to accepting *adoption into the nobility* with one *sentence*...?"

Athos chews and swallows. "Porthos has always appreciated efficiency." 

Jason *snorts* -- 

And Athos knows, with all of himself, that his *father* would've called the sly and somewhat *mean* smile currently on Athos's face unworthy -- were it ever on his own. 

Athos has never been capable of quite that degree of rectitude -- not when the alternative is enjoying, fully, his loved ones' enjoyment of *him*. 

In this moment, Porthos is giving him the *approving* smile which has always made Athos feel as though he was basking in absolute warmth somewhere far more grand, naturally, than *Paris*. Somewhere... bright. 

Aramis's smile is slyly *conspiratorial*, inviting, offering -- as it has done *nearly* from the beginning -- a warm, strong hand into truly dizzying intimacy. 

Treville's smile is frankly and unabashedly *paternal*. Warmly and richly and *possessively* -- if not in any sort of *cruel* way -- paternal. When Athos had been Olivier, such things had been confusing and more than a little uncomfortable. They seemed to invite *disloyalty* -- especially since Treville was most often the only (worthwhile) adult male available *to* him and Thomas. As he'd grown into an adult -- and with Thomas's increasingly *exasperated* *lectures* -- he had come to realize that Treville's smiles -- and everything they *meant* -- were some of the only wealth in the world with any sort of meaning whatsoever. 

A man with two fathers is a man who need not exist without *guidance*, even if -- when -- terrible things occur. 

And -- 

And now there is Jason, Treville's *new* brother, who is looking at him with delight, and pleasure, and amusement, and affection, and something like the *covetous* wonder another man might have in his eyes were he to find himself gazing at --

At something truly beautiful. 

At *someone* truly *desired*. And this -- 

This is a *happy* birthday, but it is also the strangest one, *yet*, because Athos is touching only Porthos -- and only Porthos's *hand* -- but he realizes now -- 

As he looks over the other four men in the room, one by one -- 

That that truly does not have to be the case. 

And -- 

And now Athos is blushing *violently* -- and reaching for the bottle he'd been given rather than for any of the -- delicious -- meat. 

"Brother...?" Aramis, of course, will always be the *first* to see him, to truly --

"Mm?" And Porthos is flaring his *nostrils*, and it's *precisely* as terrifying a sight as it always was when Treville would do it -- 

But Treville, in this moment, is still smiling at him *paternally*, if even more *fondly* than before. He turns to Jason -- 

Jason hums. "*Perhaps*, amant, the two of us might repair to your suite for... a while?" 

"*That* sounds like a *wonderful* --" 

"Oi, wait," Porthos says, leaning forward over the floating tray *while* moving the hand he has twined with Athos's to Athos's *thigh* -- 

Athos does his best to breathe *evenly* -- 

"I... my Porthos..." Aramis, for his part, shoots Athos a *surgeon's* glance --- 

Athos has no doubt whatsoever that his emotional, intellectual, and *physical* fitness has been weighed, measured, and *known* by that glance -- and now...

Now he is thinking only of Aramis's strong hands on him. His face, his body -- 

*Caressing* him with such *covetous* care -- 

Shameless -- 

Aramis... 

Aramis never seems to *care* that people know -- *understand* -- that he desires them, that they can see it and *feel* -- no. 

No, *that* is Porthos. *Aramis* always cares who knows, and how they know, and why they have *come* to know these things. 

He will *control* the answers to those questions if he possibly can, and, if he cannot, he will still shape and control the desire, itself. Still -- 

In *this* moment, his attempts to communicate with Porthos -- via silent and subtle expressions and *gestures* -- that the three of them ought to *let* Treville and Jason leave them alone... are not working especially well. 

Athos need not be useless now *either*. He clears his throat -- 

His brothers immediately focus on their immediate surroundings *while* reaching for weapons. It -- hm. 

Treville barks a laugh -- and keeps laughing after that. 

Jason looks delighted again -- 

Athos pinches the bridge of his nose. "I had... forgotten. That a less *actively* martial noise might *also* have the desired effect." 

"Truly, Athos?" And Jason's delighted look, Athos realizes belatedly, is somewhat demonic. "Whatever could've been *distracting* you?" 

Athos suspects the noise he'd just made is more *strangled* than anything else -- perhaps his brothers will blame the kerchief? 

But Porthos is now *gripping* him by the back of the neck and *shaking* him -- 

Athos spares a moment to *upbraid* himself for never *discouraging* Porthos from doing that to him all the time -- 

To which his self responds, acerbically, that if Athos had done so, Porthos might have *actually* stopped, leaving them *bereft* -- 

Athos shudders.

"'s all right, brother. We all know you're hard in your trousers." 

"I." 

"I mean, it's not like *any* of us are doing any better here --" 

"My *Porthos* --" 

"Love, you've got your legs crossed tight enough to do damage to parts I'm *very* fond of --" 

Aramis coughs *with* Athos -- 

"-- but I'd *like* to point out that even though none of us can bloody *see* how hard you are? *Two* of us can *smell* it." 

*Aramis* makes a strangled noise -- 

Jason clears *his* throat far more delicately than Athos has ever been able to, and yet still *arrestingly*.

"Yeah, mate?" 

"In the interests of *full* disclosure," Jason says, and looks to all of them before smiling wryly. "While my senses are far less *acute* than those of shifter-dogs, they are still far *more* acute than those of *humans*." And his eyes gleam *red* -- 

Aramis looks *stricken* -- 

Porthos nods *judiciously* -- 

And Treville laughs that *particular* laugh.

That -- 

That *Fearless* laugh --

Athos frowns helplessly -- 

Treville coughs, cups Athos's knee, and *shakes* him. "Oh, son, son, we are *going* to give you boys some privacy --" 

"But *wait* --"

Treville snorts. "*Porthos*. I *promise* that we'll talk about *everything* *later*. I already made that promise, mm?" And Treville stands, straightening his leathers and casually *adjusting* himself in his *trousers*. 

Aramis makes a small sound -- 

Porthos frowns *deeply* -- 

And Athos -- catches himself staring. He looks *up* -- and finds Jason studying him with warm, open curiosity. 

Athos inclines his head to the man, because -- 

Because the desire to leave *open* all potential avenues of conversation is greater, in this moment, than the morass of fear, awkwardness, self-consciousness, and *doubt* currently roiling within him. It -- 

But Treville is *caressing* Porthos's face -- 

Tilting it up and *holding* it there so that Porthos must continue meeting his gaze -- 

Must be *seen*, like this -- 

Porthos shivers beside Athos, but neither stiffens nor attempts to move away from the scrutiny. 

He has always been so *shameless* -- 

And, when Athos checks, Aramis has curled the fingers of one hand *entirely* possessively around Porthos's wrist. 

Porthos blinks and frowns. "Sir..." 

Treville nods and moves his hand back to his side. "Son. We -- all of us," Treville says, and turns his gaze *on* all of them, "will speak about everything on our *minds* -- and in our hearts." 

"When, sir?" Porthos's voice is -- too soft. Perhaps the correct word is 'subdued'.

Athos pushes back into the grip on his neck because he *must* -- 

Porthos squeezes harder seemingly *reflexively* -- 

And Treville nods again, more firmly. "You boys... all of you *are* my heart --"

"*Sir*." 

"I know, Aramis," Treville says, and smiles wryly. "You want to kick for that. I daresay you even *need* to kick for that." 

*Aramis* nods -- and does not move his hand from Porthos's wrist. 

"It is my great hope, son, that you will need to kick *less*... once we've spoken more." 

Aramis frowns *deeply* -- 

And Jason laughs teasingly as shadows ribbon out from his body to coil around Treville. "I believe Aramis is coming to agree with your Porthos about *when* that conversation should take place..."

"*I* --" 

"Go on, amant. Say something *ambiguously* affectionate to your *Athos*." 

Aramis makes a *dangerous* noise -- 

"Mm? Was there something you wished to say, Aramis...?" And Jason raises a *languid* eyebrow -- 

Porthos coughs -- 

Treville *hums* -- 

And, in this moment, Athos honestly cannot decide whether to duck out of Aramis's way or to simply improve his line of *sight* for the carnage to come. 

*Aramis*... has narrowed his eyes. "Jason," he says, low and clipped and formal enough in *tone* to *feel* like 'M'sieu Blood' far more than anything else. 

"You have my *utmost* attention," Jason says, glancing toward Aramis's hand on Porthos's wrist and then looking up toward Aramis's eyes again *slowly*. 

Aramis's hand *flexes* on Porthos's wrist --

He *growls* -- 

Porthos starts to *croon* -- 

"*Jason*," Aramis says. "Do you, perhaps, have some rationale behind *giving* my brothers to Treville?" 

"They *are* his men, mon grand..." 

"What -- no. No," Aramis says, and shakes his head once. "*I* am *also* his man, by this measure. You were using a *deliberately* --"

"I am positively *thrilled* to hear you say that, mon grand --" 

"-- provocative *tone* -- what -- I -- *no* -- I did not mean --" 

"-- as I believe we both know, in *this* moment, how very much mon amant has longed to formalize, expand, and *press* his claims on *all* of you," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Aramis flushes deeply -- and pauses.

And takes a *breath* -- 

And licks his lips. "I. I am aware of this thing," he says, and turns to Porthos, and then to *him*. "My brothers?" 

"Oh, I'm bloody aware, all right. 's why I want to *talk*." 

"Ah." Athos considers, belatedly, the possibilities inherent to escape. 

He knows *all* of the potential escape routes from this house -- and it's possible that his years of positive interactions with Treville's staff would lead one or more of them to reveal still more. It -- 

But -- 

Everyone -- absolutely everyone -- in the room is *looking* at him. 

Athos takes a breath of his own, and nods. "I, too, am aware of... Treville's... feelings. And I find myself with a growing awareness of Jason's own --" 

"*Right*," Porthos says, and gives Athos another shake. "So let's --" 

"Porthos," Athos says, and rests his own hand on Porthos's broad, strong thigh -- no. 

Not only that. Not -- 

He *strokes* Porthos's thigh precisely as affectionately as he wants to, precisely as *hopefully* and *obviously* as he wants to -- 

"Oh. Athos..." And Porthos's knowledge, Porthos's *acceptance* -- his hunger and hope and *happiness* -- all of it is in his *voice* -- 

He's *rumbling* -- 

*Covering* Athos's hand on his thigh with his own -- but. 

Athos must not become distracted, *yet*. He -- "Yes," he says, because it's the only word he has *available* at first. At -- 

It's the only word he has available for long *moments* -- no. 

No. "*Porthos*." 

"Mm?" Porthos... is nuzzling Athos's *ear*. 

And *sniffing* him there -- licking -- 

And dragging Athos's hand higher up his *thigh* -- 

Athos must -- must *say* more -- 

He has to make Porthos *understand*, and *pause* him while Jason and Treville are still -- 

Athos *checks* -- 

And Aramis is laughing brightly and *filthily* at him from over Porthos's broad shoulder. "Our... chaperons?" He laughs harder. "They have *left* us, my brother." 

"Wait, what --" Porthos pulls *away* -- 

And Athos cannot keep himself from *gripping* his thigh.

Porthos *grunts* -- "Oh. Athos..." 

"*Yes*, my Porthos," Aramis says, leaning close and caressing Porthos's face -- 

Nuzzling his cheek -- 

"Look to your *brothers* in this moment, mm?" 

"Right, but --" 

"My Porthos," Aramis says, and licks Porthos's *beard* -- "Your brothers need you very badly..." 

Porthos's growl is low and entirely animal -- and, judging by the expression on his face, Porthos hadn't intended to do it, at all. He gives himself a shake and *stops* growling - "Right. Uh." He flares his nostrils once -- 

Again -- 

Aramis makes a *soft* sound and strokes down the bridge of Porthos's nose -- 

Athos realizes, with a start, that that was something that he'd always wanted to *do* -- 

But Porthos grunts -- and flushes *deeply* under the skin. "I need uh. I need -- both of you. To... sit back. Just for a minute. Please." 

Athos blinks and does so *immediately* -- 

Aramis frowns. "My Porthos..." 

"Yeah, uh." When Porthos shakes himself this time, it's much more *violent*. "Please, love. Give me -- just a minute," he says, and -- rolls his head on his neck. 

That... is something Athos understands very well. "Aramis, Porthos's spirit-dog is... much louder, within Porthos, than he had been before this moment. Much more... desirous," he says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Aramis inhales sharply -- and then looks Porthos over with *greed*. "Perhaps my Porthos could speak of this to his brothers..." 

"I -- Aramis --" 

"Perhaps my Porthos could tell us *both* of his desires," Aramis says, moving on the couch enough that he can rest on one knee with the other foot on the floor. He cups his cock through his trousers --

"My --" And then Athos shuts his teeth with a *click*, because -- he can't just say anything which comes to *mind* -- 

But Aramis and Porthos are both looking at him -- 

*Searching* him with their eyes and frowning, and Athos wants to tell them that he never means to push them away, that the last thing he desires is a life without their *warmth*, that every *moment* with them is -- is... 

But. 

Porthos is cupping Athos's face and *shuddering*. 

Porthos is stroking over and over and *over* Athos's mouth with his thumb, his big thumb, his hard and *rough* thumb, and the thought Athos had shut his teeth on comes again, rises -- 

"*Please*. Please, I -- I want this," Athos says, because he must say *something* true -- 

"I wish, my brother, to know what you did not say *before*," Aramis says, and his eyes are warm and wicked, so *inviting* -- 

His shoulders are flexing -- 

And when Athos looks down, Aramis is opening his trousers with deft, easy grace -- 

Athos *pants* -- 

"You like that, brother? What our Aramis is doing for us?" And Porthos's voice is a low and *thick* growl, hungry, so -- 

"Hungry -- I." 

"You're hungry for it, are you?" Porthos grins. "Well, so am I. Why don't you open *my* trousers for me, eh?" 

It is a very particular *series* of sensations -- emotional and otherwise -- to feel one's intellect stutter, fall, and fail *utterly* in the face of the superior force of one's *towering* lust. 

Athos has felt these sensations before, and has even had the opportunity to do something *about* them before. The part of him which is pointing that out and *drawing* out every memory of same with the exquisite clarity only *crushing* shame can bring -- 

That part has never known a Porthos who could -- and would, and *does* -- drag his heavy thumb against the scarring on Athos's mouth -- 

Who growls like a *beast* while he does it -- 

Who promises, clear and easy and free: "Just get me open, brother. I'll fuck your mouth just as hard as *both* of us want." 

Athos is aware that more followed that, including Porthos assuring him that they could do anything else if that wasn't what Athos *wanted*, but -- 

He wants to tell Porthos, especially *Porthos*, that every last one of his promises is an impregnable fortress capable of sheltering the weak, hurt, and *small* from every enemy, every *cruelty*. 

What *actually* falls out of his mouth, however, is: "My mouth. Is watering. For both of you." 

And, while a part of him *is* encouraged by the rest's ability to -- finally -- get that out through his *teeth* -- 

Aramis is blinking. 

And so is Porthos. 

Athos winces and pulls *back* -- 

Or, rather, he *attempts* to pull back. What actually happens is that Porthos *yanks* him into a kiss that's hard, deep, *hungry* -- 

*Reaching*, because Porthos fucks Athos's *mouth* with his tongue -- 

Grips Athos by the *hair* -- 

*Nods* when Athos suckles helplessly, *needfully* -- Athos is precisely as hungry as this kiss. More. 

*More*. 

He drops his hands to Porthos's groin -- and finds Aramis's hands there before him, finds that Aramis already *has* Porthos open, and their hands caress, fumble and tangle and *grip* at Porthos's cock and balls -- 

Porthos *growls* again -- 

And Athos is shaking, stiffening everywhere, *needing*. He feels graceless, uncomfortably sweaty, awkward -- 

Every last thing which had allowed him a marginal degree of attractiveness has been swept away in his *need*, and there are *many* parts of him which only want to step back, breathe, take the time to regain *aplomb* -- 

He is not doing any of those things when Porthos strokes down to the back of Athos's neck again -- 

When Aramis toys and *teases* between Athos's fingers with his own, Porthos-slick ones -- 

Athos is moaning, louder and -- louder and *louder*, more *desperately* -- 

Kissing Porthos *messily*, *roughly* because he has lost anything in the way of *finesse* -- 

He wants to *devour* his brothers -- 

He wants them to devour him. 

And when Porthos yanks Athos out of the kiss to bite his lips -- 

To bite his whole *mouth* -- 

Athos can only nod, urge, push himself into it -- 

"-- truly beautiful, my brother..." And Aramis's voice is breathless, throaty, *encouraging* -- 

Has he been speaking all this time?

How had Athos *missed* -- 

He can't ever *miss* -- 

"Will you ease him, my Porthos? Mm? Will you make him pliant and loose and --" 

Porthos snarls and *stops* biting -- "Stop. Don't -- not that." 

Athos blinks -- he can't *focus* --

"Not... do you not wish to speak of... hm. I believe I need to know *more* about where the boundaries *are*, my Porthos," Aramis says, and the amusement in his voice is just as warm, just as *rich* as the *care* -- 

Porthos laughs softly. "I -- I'm not *sure*. I *think* I know a *little*, but..." He shakes his head and laughs more. "Bloody *Treville* knows *all* of this." 

"I -- hm. I begin to understand more of your desires to keep him close, my Porthos." 

"Oh, do you? I'm bloody glad." 

Aramis snorts. "Be *easy*, my Porthos. We have our Athos with us, and *he* knows much." 

Gradually, it becomes clear that his brothers are looking at him.

Expectantly. 

It...

"Uhh..." 

"Hm. Our good Athos may, perhaps, be --" 

"A bit impaired, yeah. Here we go," Porthos says, and -- shakes him. 

Gently, but firmly. 

Then rather more athletically -- 

Then gently once more. 

"I. My Porthos." 

"Wait a tick, love. How are you doing in there, brother?" 

"Exceedingly hopeful that being stared at critically while also being vigorously shaken does not become an *essential* part of my sexual makeup." 

Aramis *coughs* -- 

Porthos -- "I'll always be there for you, brother. No matter what." 

That... is, by far, the most important thing. "Thank you very much for that, brother. But you had a question?" 

"I --" 

"Our Porthos -- and *we* -- need very badly to know how far -- and in which directions -- he can be *pushed* sexually, my brother," Aramis says, and raises an eyebrow. "Am I correct in assuming that the losses of control, should he be pushed too far, can be... overwhelming?" 

Aramis, perhaps unsurprisingly, sounds somewhat *worryingly* eager at that prospect, but -- 

The question still *must* be treated in good faith. Athos nods. "Thomas and I were taught from an early age that shifter-dogs must, in some ways, keep themselves on tighter leads than the leads *true* dogs are kept on by their human companions. Witch and dog can find themselves at odds on one emotional point or another -- or, even more dangerously, entirely in *agreement* about said point -- and then, unless witch and dog work closely and well together, *many* people -- including them -- could become injured." 

"Like, just as an example, when a dog and his witch are *entirely* in agreement about the fact that that witch's brothers need to get fucked *hard*?" And Porthos is wincing, but -- 

But Aramis is licking his *lips* -- 

And Athos may very well need to be shaken again soon.

"Aw -- *fuck*, brothers, *help*!" 

"I..." 

Athos coughs. "Yes, I -- yes. If I am remembering clearly... I..." 

"Athos. I *promise* I will do something *very* mean to you, your cock, your bollocks -- all of the above. *All* of it." 

"... fuck," Athos says, and blinks -- 

Swallows -- 

Blinks *more* -- 

"Yeah, *that*. We *both* know you like that. I always *thought* you could go that way, but now your scents are all but *singing* it to me --" Porthos growls low and gives himself a shake. "But help me now, all right? What do I do? How do I keep from *hurting* you both?" 

"I, for one, would never begrudge my good Porthos a little pain --" 

"*Fuck*, love --" 

"-- in the interests of lovemaking --" 

Porthos *whines* -- 

"Aramis," Athos says, pulling on every *bit* of *presence* he had learned from his father, Uncles, godfather, and *mother*. 

"Yee -- as you say, my brother. I will... quiet myself. For now," Aramis says, and sits on his heels. 

Porthos is staring at *nothing* -- no. 

No, Athos would daresay that *both* he and Aramis know a great *deal* about what Porthos is staring at behind his eyes. 

What... 

What dark, *heated* vistas...

*Aramis* clears his throat -- and *looks* at Athos. 

Athos takes a *breath* -- "As you say, brother," he says, and rests a hand on Porthos's *shoulder*. 

Only there. 

"Porthos. To me," he says, deliberately using the tones of the *unit* commander -- 

Porthos grunts and goes loose, movements fluid and graceful as he straightens and turns to face Athos -- 

As he gives Athos his absolute and *perfect* attention -- 

And now isn't the *time* to tell him how much that means -- 

How much that's always *meant* -- no. 

"Porthos," Athos says, and squeezes that shoulder firmly. "You must keep your thoughts away from *mounting* us, or any other *humans* you may find yourself attracted --" 

Porthos grunts -- 

Aramis makes another *soft* sound -- 

And Athos nods. "I *believe* this means that you and the dog within you will have a greater degree of freedom with other shifters and certain other non-humans --"

"Uhh..." 

"My *brother* --" 

"But, for now, you must keep your thoughts *entirely* away from mounting *or* fucking us --" 

Aramis *growls* --

"Aramis," Athos says, and does his best to *pin* the man with a look -- 

Aramis is *frowning* -- 

But Porthos takes a breath -- and reaches up to grip *Aramis* by the back of the neck. 

"*Nnh* -- my Porthos, you must --" 

"Shh, love, shh," he says, and looks back and forth between them. "We have other choices, eh?" 

"But --" 

"*And*? Athos is *not* saying that I have to spend *forever* on this lead," Porthos says, and now he is gazing into Aramis's eyes -- "Are you, brother?" 

Athos swallows. "I submit to you both... that Thomas and I *witnessed* Treville with *this* particular lead off any number of times." 

Aramis *coughs* -- 

"Uhh..." 

His brothers turn to *look* at him -- 

And Athos lets himself smile for it, sharp and sly. "My brothers... both Treville *and* his dog found welcome in my *parents'* bed." 

"Right, but..." 

Aramis makes a *strangled* sound --

"Yes, brothers?" 

Aramis raises a hand. "I..." 

Porthos gives himself a shake -- and then reaches over and *grips* Athos's cock through his trousers.

"*Fuck*." 

"Agreed on all counts, brother. What say you, Aramis?"

"Yes, my Porthos?" 

"I find myself with a *distinct* and *serious* need to strip our birthday boy naked and get him right disreputable." 

"Oh, my Porthos -- will this not lead to us *also* becoming disreputable?" And Aramis -- Aramis clutches his hands to his chest and bats his *lashes*. 

Porthos folds and twists and *compresses* his expression into one which makes him look both elderly and *constipated* -- "Love, I *daresay* we're *all* going to be positively *disgusting* when all's said and done." 

"Reprehensible?" 

"Beyond the *pale*." 

"Irredeemable, my Porthos?" 

"That's --" 

"I." Athos licks his lips. 

And stares. 

At his brothers. 

Aramis smiles sharply and stands -- his trousers and breeches fall immediately, and *then* Athos notices that the man had, somehow, removed his boots and socks at some point. 

And then Athos stops looking at Aramis's feet. 

Porthos laughs *hard*. "Hey, Athos." 

"I -- I -- yes?" 

"Happy birthday," he says, and squeezes Athos's cock so hard -- 

So *hard* -- 

Athos is gasping -- *choking* on gasps -- 

Oh, but that was a *whine* -- 

"Oh, my brother, that is *beautiful*," Aramis says, and he's on Athos's other side -- 

He's caressing Athos's face -- 

He's opening the catches on Athos's *tunic* -- 

Porthos is still *squeezing* -- 

And Athos must agree that it is a very, very happy birthday, thus far.


	7. With Aramis, it's dirty talk. With Porthos and Athos? It's nearly always just the continuation of an important discussion.

Aramis prides himself on his aplomb in the face of any *number* of things which would make lesser men quail and wither and *wilt*. 

Aramis knows himself well enough to know that he has *earned* this pride. 

Aramis... is currently *naked* in his Captain's *study*, which is in his Captain's *home*, and he is currently *not* in the process of making love to the Captain -- which would, many parts of him insist, alleviate some of the problematic aspects of the first two facts of his current existence. He is, in point of fact, in the process of making love to his Captain's son and his Captain's *beloved* godson -- hm. 

No.

It would be, he believes, a *terrible* mistake to assume that Porthos is not -- at least at this point -- *equally* beloved. Treville has been searching for his son for twenty years. The fact that he *may* not have been utterly besotted with Porthos *before* tonight is *meaningless* against the fact that it is now known, by *all* of them, that Porthos is literally the most important person in Treville's life, and has been so since -- 

Or.

Hm. 

What sort of parent *is* Treville? He has no *other* children that *Athos* knows of, but then, Athos had not known about the child Treville had *lost* -- even though Treville's first pack had included Athos's parents, who had been, they now know, Porthos's *godparents*. 

It -- 

And there is the looming, *lingering* question of this Jason *Blood*. The part of Aramis which only wishes to *yank* at the man's sleeves -- and as many other parts of him as prove necessary -- until he answers all of Aramis's questions about the *spheres*... is no less *vehement* about things than the parts of Aramis which wish to interrogate the man about *other* things. 

Emotional things -- what *of* his relationship with Treville? Their *Captain*, and -- 

What sort of *man* is this Jason Blood, *truly*? He is powerful, yes, and very obviously a man of intellect and *distinction*, but Aramis had not needed to become a man of the *King* to know that such things could often hide truly terrible secrets. Aramis's good mother had taught him *much* on *this* matter, while they were both still at Madame Margaud's. 

And, for that matter, what sorts of secrets is the man hiding *with* their Captain? Both of them had shown a great -- and worrying -- degree of *deviance* in their eyes tonight. Both of them had been noticeably *hard* when they had *looked* at Aramis and his brothers -- all three of them!

Treville speaks freely of *loving* them, but what does this mean?

What *can* this mean with and to *Treville* -- a man who can and does look with *lust* on the son of two of his deceased lovers? On his *godson*, whom he helped to *raise*? 

A man who can look with lust on his *own* son, and *caress* -- there was no innocence in that touch. 

And what *can* this say about who Jason Blood is, as a man, that he can *accept* this in his lovers -- despite having had literal *centuries* to see the damage *abuse* can cause within families? 

It must be --

"What's got *you* distracted over there, love?" 

Oh -- "Porthos -- I apologize --" 

"Tell me later," Porthos says, and he is on his knees -- 

He is on his knees with his face *pressed* to Aramis's groin -- 

He is nuzzling and snuffling and *growling* at the base of Aramis's *cock*, and Aramis has never been more naked, or more intimidated to *be* naked, or, ultimately, more *happy* to be naked.

And *that* is when -- 

"Oh. Brother... will you taste him?" Athos. Athos is right *there*, sitting on the floor with his back against Treville's great throne of a chair, naked with one foot planted and one leg splayed -- 

Naked and licking his kiss-and-bite-swollen *lips* -- 

Naked and *cupping* his own hard cock, not stroking or squeezing or -- 

And Porthos is still growling, still -- 

He's gripping Aramis's hips and *crushing* his own face against Aramis, and it's impossible to be certain whether he is taking Aramis's scents or simply taking them *onto* himself. 

Aramis shivers and -- breathes. That is, in this moment, what he is qualified -- no. 

No. 

He can be -- more. "My Athos --" 

Athos huffs a breathless version of his excuse for a laugh -- and smiles brilliantly.

Aramis's heart *knocks* as he *moans* -- 

Porthos growls in approval -- there is no part of Aramis which does not know it's *approval* -- and moves his gripping hands to Aramis's *arse* -- 

And Athos's eyes -- *somehow* -- heat even more before he says, "Please, do say that all the time, brother." 

Aramis stares -- 

And stares -- 

And -- "What...?"

Athos huffs again, and *again* -- 

And Porthos pulls *back* from Aramis's groin -- "We all understand *that* bloody perfectly, love." 

"I." 

"We truly do," Athos says, and smiles again. "But you were about to say... something?" 

For a moment, there are -- only -- two thoughts in Aramis's mind. One: Porthos's mouth, his beautiful and soft and *spit*-slick mouth, is no longer touching Aramis's cock, and this is a very significant problem which needs to be solved quickly, lest Aramis lose the few fragments of his sanity which remain available to him. 

Two: Athos is *several* feet *away* from Aramis -- there is not one single part of his body which is touching Aramis's, and thus not one single part of *Aramis's* body which is touching *his*. Should the three of them remain in their current configuration -- or, better, should Porthos return his mouth to Aramis's cock -- this state of affairs will remain as it is, however untenable.

Aramis frowns, caught between the two thoughts as surely and hopelessly and *helplessly* as a Greek sailor between Scylla and Charybdis -- 

"What d'you suppose he's thinking on up there, brother?" 

"It *could* be religion," Athos says, and raises an eyebrow under his fringe. 

Porthos frowns doubtfully. "He's usually a sight happier for that sort of thing..." 

"Very true, brother," Athos says, "but we must remember that tonight's events have thoroughly realigned his entire cosmology." 

"Oh, true that. The All-Mother and all." 

"Mm." 

Aramis's brothers look at him expectantly. 

Aramis has a *new* thought in his head, which involves the potentially uncomfortable and *small* places the Saviour might *fit* within the sprawling -- and growing -- *new* cosmology within his mind -- 

He licks his lips -- 

He *winces* -- 

"We probably shouldn't have done that to him, brother," Porthos says. 

"Mm, no, you're quite right. Perhaps we could --" 

"Make him think about something else? I'm all *right* with that." And Porthos grins *exceedingly* doggishly, tongue peeking. "Did you have any *ideas* in that direction, brother?" 

Athos's answering smile is almost like one of the ones he tends to wear when *deeply* inebriated -- and very, very relaxed. It is sly, wild, *hot* -- but, *unlike* all of those times when he has been drunk, it is also *entirely* focused. His gaze moves *heavily* over Porthos's naked body -- 

"Oh -- *yeah*, you do. C'mon, then --" 

"I would like..." 

"*What* would you like, brother?" And Porthos grips Aramis's hip so easily, so *firmly* -- 

Aramis can go nowhere, say *nothing* -- 

He cannot bring himself to *interrupt* this -- 

And he knows Athos can see just that when the man smiles up at *him* -- 

When he narrows his blue eyes *hotly* -- and nods once before turning back to Porthos. "Porthos. I would like for you to bring our brother here," he says, planting both feet; cupping and lifting his balls with his free hand; and spreading his *legs* -- 

Porthos growls so *low* -- 

Aramis can see Athos's hole *flex* -- 

And Athos huffs a breathless laugh. "The answer, for that, is not *yet* -- as you well know, brother. Just as you *should* know that I hunger for 'yet' *desperately* --" 

Porthos's growl cuts off sharply -- "Stop. Right there." 

"As you say, brother. Do you need me to close my --" 

"Don't you bloody *dare*," Porthos says, laughing hard, powerfully, so -- "Let's just... *alter* that view a bit..." 

And Porthos *moves* Aramis, just like that -- 

Moves him bodily, *easily* -- 

And Athos pulls him down and down into his arms -- 

Holds him *tightly* -- 

Clutches him and strokes his chest and --

Strokes down to Aramis's hips and thighs and urges Aramis to spread, spread wide, kneel over Athos's thighs and then sit back against his hard cock -- 

"*Oh* --" 

"Brother," Athos says, and -- "Aramis. My Aramis... may I call you that...?" 

"I -- *yes*, my Athos --" 

"Should I let you hesitate when you do it?" And Athos's fingers have found Aramis's nipples. The pinches are gentle, but -- 

They both know that they do not *have* to be. 

They *all* know -- and Porthos, when Aramis looks, is sitting on his heels and *watching* him with Athos, watching them *touch*. It -- 

"My Aramis..." Athos kisses Aramis's ear. "I've dreamed of making love to you in every way we -- all of us -- *wish* --" 

"Oh -- yes -- *please* --" 

"I will need... rather more information than I currently have in order to make that work." And Athos's smile is broad against Aramis's cheek, bright in *feel* -- 

Aramis flushes for the *possibilities* -- and looks to Porthos. 

"Did you want me to start, love...?" And Porthos cups his own thick, beautiful cock. So -- 

It is already *slick*, *shining* -- 

The foreskin is back, and the head is -- 

Is... 

Aramis frowns.

"Right, well, I'd *really* like to know why you're looking at my cock like it doesn't *belong* at this soirée, love." 

"Mm? What is our Aramis doing, brother?" 

"Making me feel *exceedingly* self-conscious about -- love, what the bloody hell is *wrong* with my --" 

"Oh," Athos says, just that, and -- 

And that is when Aramis knows that he is not *imagining* things, because Porthos's beautiful hard cock is *not* the same cock it was when last Aramis had the chance to gaze upon all of its glories -- 

"What *is* -- it. Oh. Wait a tick," Porthos says, and looks... inward? 

"What..." 

"All is well, Aramis," Athos says. "If I'm not mistaken, Treville is taking the time to explain to Porthos why -- and how -- his cock is changing." 

"I." 

"Mm?" 

Aramis looks -- helplessly -- at the cock in question. The... 

It is bigger, and this is by *no* means something to mourn, for all that his Porthos had already been a magnificently *blessed* individual. 

It is bigger, and, now that Aramis is paying *attention*, the foreskin is... is... 

That is, by no stretch of the imagination, a foreskin. It is thick, and -- and *furry* -- no. He is not looking at that right now. 

He looks at Porthos's *cock*, which *used* to have a truly *inspiring* head -- a *mushrooming* head, for all that he wishes, in this moment, to steal *no* descriptors from Treville -- 

It was... thick. *Rounded*. *Promising*. 

It promised *many* things -- not *least* any number of *unforgettable* nights. 

Now...

Now, Porthos's cock has *lengthened* as well as thickened, and the additional length at the head -- 

The -- the *tip* -- 

Aramis frowns. Deeply. 

Athos kisses his cheek. "Perhaps you should look to Porthos's entirely new -- and, I believe, still-growing -- knot." 

Aramis blinks -- "His... what?"

"Porthos, a moment?" 

"Mm? What is it, Athos? I'm busy telling *Daddy* off for not *explaining* that *I* would suddenly wind up with a dog-cock just because *he* bloody has one --"

Aramis chokes -- 

"Understandable. However, for *various* reasons, Aramis truly should get a better look at your knot sooner rather than later." 

Porthos blinks -- 

Blinks at *him* -- 

Flares his *nostrils* -- and then *immediately* stands and moves close, standing *over* Aramis with his cock in Aramis's *face* -- 

"Now, understand, love, I probably would've figured all this out on my own..." 

"Y-yes?" His cock is so -- it has *changed*, and -- 

"Yeah, eh? I mean, Daddy's a shifter, Mum was *apparently* a shifter -- stands to reason I would be, too, and all." 

"Oh, yes, quite, brother." 

"I... yes..." And Aramis is trying very hard to *listen*, but Porthos's cock is so -- so *animal*, so thick and so -- 

And the *colour* is changing -- it is getting so *red*!

"-- shifters all have *marks* right bloody *there*, if they're earth-mages, anyway." 

"Oh, yes, brother? I must admit that a part of me had always assumed that it was just another quirk of Treville's line, if not necessarily solely of Treville, himself." 

"Nah, it's all of us. And..."

And Aramis is positive that Porthos is -- 

That *both* of his brothers are saying things -- important things! -- but when Aramis leans just a little closer to Porthos's groin, the *scents* are different from what they had always been in their tent, in the dark, so *close* -- but. 

But Aramis realizes, with a jerk that makes Athos *grip* him *tighter*, that *he* was responsible for that guttural sound -- 

That *hungry* sound -- 

And he is -- is *reaching* -- 

He's blushing -- he can feel himself -- 

His face is *prickling* almost *painfully*, but he must *touch* --

He must -- 

And then Porthos's cock, Porthos's *new* cock, is in his hands, and it feels *precisely* as inhuman as it *is*, and the part of Aramis which only wishes to study -- 

Is not any of the parts which are demanding that he drag his fingertips over and over and *over* Porthos's length, his -- 

His *girth*, so *slick*, so -- 

"Oh, love..." 

"So -- so *animal* -- I -- I *apologize*!" And Aramis wants, very badly, to *show* that he apologizes, that he *means* it, to show this by taking his hands *away* -- 

He cannot do that. 

He -- 

"s' all right, love. Isn't it, Athos." 

Athos huffs breathlessly. "I certainly wouldn't have the *slightest* objection to our Aramis touching my cock that way..." 

Porthos snickers hard. "Or a few other ways?" 

"I could be... convinced..." And Athos strokes down and down and --

Down -- 

Athos *grips* Aramis's balls even as he cups Aramis's cock *gently*. 

Aramis *pants* -- "Please --" 

Porthos's cock jerks and spatters Aramis's *face* -- 

Aramis *grunts* as his cock jerks in -- in Athos's *hand* -- 

And Athos *grinds* against Aramis's back -- and huffs again. "I did not plan this well." 

"How's that, then, brother," Porthos says, and never looks away from Aramis's eyes as he *rests* the tip of his reddening cock on Aramis's lower *lip*. 

"Mm. Well..." And Athos strokes Aramis's cock lightly, *teasingly* -- no.

He is *working* Aramis's slick all *over* Aramis's cock -- 

He is -- 

Aramis moans helplessly and looks up into Porthos's eyes -- 

*Begs* up into Porthos's eyes as *he* starts to stroke Porthos's cock, to stroke and urge and -- squeeze -- 

Porthos growls. 

Aramis shivers and nods and *nods* -- 

"Open your mouth *wider* than that, love..." 

Aramis *obeys* -- and Porthos's cock jerks wildly, *powerfully* in his hands -- 

So -- 

And this time, the noise Porthos makes is a rumble, deep in his chest -- 

Aramis can feel it in his *own* chest -- 

He can feel it all *through* himself, and he must -- 

He does his best to tug Porthos's big cock *into* his mouth -- 

"Shh, love. Not yet." 

Aramis -- Aramis hears himself *whine* --

Porthos *growls* again -- stops.

Breathes -- 

Breathes deeply and cups Aramis's face -- "Shh. 's all right. I promise I'll give *all* of us what we *all* want, eh?"

"All of us, brother...?"

Porthos grins. "Why don't you tell us what *you* want, Athos. *How* did you plan things poorly, eh?" 

"Mm, well..." And Athos squeezes with both *hands* -- 

"Ay! Please!" 

Porthos rumbles more. "I mean, it looks to *me* like you've got Aramis --" 

"Well in *hand*, brother?" And Athos squeezes -- 

And *squeezes* -- 

"I suppose there's something to be said for applying... humor --" 

"And other things, yeah --" 

"-- to a given situation," Athos says, and bites Aramis's *ear* -- 

*Growls* into Aramis's ear -- 

"*That's* hot, brother." 

Athos bites him *harder* -- 

Aramis *whimpers* -- 

And Athos releases his ear. "Thank you. I'm quite happy that you don't find it too laughable to be borne, considering." 

"Nah. You're human; I'm not. Nothing to get fussed about." 

"As you say," Athos says, and strokes Aramis's cock fast -- 

So -- 

So *fast* -- 

Aramis is panting and *moaning* -- 

Trying not to *writhe* -- 

And Porthos's eyes are gleaming *green* -- "You're so bloody gorgeous, love..." 

"Oh --" 

And Athos -- "I wish to make you scream tonight, Aramis. Will you? For me?" 

Aramis *grunts* -- 

Porthos *drags* the tip of his cock -- is it even *more* tapered? -- over and over Aramis's *mouth* -- 

"Please -- I -- *please*!" 

"You should answer our brother's question, love," Porthos says, and licks his lips -- and grins. "Not that he's answered *mine*." 

Athos huffs. "It's nothing -- mm. Well, that isn't true in the *slightest* --" 

Porthos *snorts*. "What *is* it, brother?" 

"I would like... significantly more stimulation for my cock," Athos says, and pants *sharply* against Aramis's ear, making Aramis dream of bending -- 

Of bending *over* -- 

Of -- 

"Oh, you should see our love's eyes going all hazy and sweet, Athos," Porthos says. 

Athos says. "Do you like the idea of... stimulating me, my Aramis?" 

"Yes! Please, *yes*!" 

"Right, well, we have an answer," Porthos says, releasing his cock and gripping Aramis by the jaw and shoulder -- 

"Oh --" 

*Lifting* Aramis gently and carefully -- 

"Oh --" Athos huffs and huffs -- "Brother, I *will* still have to move my hands --" 

"Just the one, though. We can't leave our love *bereft*, now." 

"You're right, of course. I haven't the faintest clue what I was thinking," Athos says, releasing Aramis's *cock* -- 

Aramis *whines* -- 

"*That* will never not be inspiring, love." 

"Oh -- oh, yes," Athos says, and squeezes Aramis's balls *viciously* -- 

Aramis shouts -- 

"That, too --" 

"*Always* that -- I have dreamed," Athos says -- *growls* -- 

And Aramis can hear the *unmistakable* sound of Athos's hand moving on his cock brutally -- 

Athos -- 

Athos *stroking* himself, *working* himself with Aramis's own *slick* -- 

And Porthos is panting now, licking his lips -- his *face* -- "You both smell so bloody *delicious* --" 

Oh -- "Please, *you*, my Porthos -- *mm*!" Porthos has *given* Aramis his thumb, and so Aramis must suckle, hold his big, rough hand -- 

Stroke and caress -- 

Show his love, his need -- 

"Get your cock between those *cheeks*, Athos --" 

"Nngh -- I -- I --" 

"C'mon, brother, we *all* need it," Porthos says -- 

And Aramis feels himself clench on nothing, on -- 

On *desire* and fantasy and the ache of being convinced -- not so long ago -- that this could never be *possible*. 

It --

It *shouldn't* be possible; there is no *reason* for it to be possible, and yet here they are, naked and unashamed and *together* -- 

Oh -- 

The way they *should* be, always, please -- "*Always*!" And Aramis had all but *coughed* that out, but Athos's cock is hot in his cleft, slick -- 

Slick with *him*!

Aramis feels himself flushing everywhere, *sweating*, making himself more slick, more ready, more ready to be *used* -- 

"Ah, fuck, you're both -- you're both so --" 

"Porthos," Athos says, and his tone is the command-voice threaded with absolute *hunger* -- 

"*Fuck*, brother, what's *that* bloody voice for?" 

"*Porthos*," Athos says, and his voice is even *harder* -- 

His *body* is absolutely *still* -- 

And Aramis and Porthos are *both* giving him their absolute attention. 

Athos pulls Aramis back against himself -- 

Squeezes him *firmly* -- 

Kisses Aramis's *cheek* -- and pants against his ear. "Porthos. It's time for both of us to let. Go." 

Porthos bares his teeth as his eyes *flare* -- 

Growls low and sharp and *wild* as his cock jerks and spasms and spatters the rugs, the furniture, and seemingly every *part* of Aramis. 

Aramis pants and *wants* -- 

But then Porthos rolls his head on his neck the way Aramis has sometimes seen Treville do, the way he now *understands* means that Porthos is buying *control*, and the baring of his teeth *becomes* a smile -- though a very, very sharp one. "Let go, eh? How about I do that... to a certain *extent*, brother?" 

"Your caveat is well-taken, brother," Athos says, low and *hungry*, and he starts *pumping* Aramis's balls -- 

Aramis gasps -- and gasps again -- 

And Porthos moves one hand to Aramis's hair and *grips* -- 

And Athos presses the fingers of his free hand to the hinges of Aramis's *jaw* -- 

Porthos *growls* -- "Ah -- ah, *fuck*, brother --" 

"This. *Specifically* this... is a fantasy. Please. Give it to me," Athos says, and Aramis can feel him shaking against him, *shivering* -- 

But then he, himself, is doing the same -- even as he scrabbles, desperate and *hungry*, for the increasingly scattered portions of his intellect --

Even as he reaches back with one hand to grip and claw at Athos's *thigh*. He *must*, and --

He'd never truly imagined Athos *asking* -- 

And he'd never *once* imagined Athos *taking*. 

"Oh, brothers, my -- *fuck*," Porthos says, licking his lips and *gleaming* at them with bright, wild green eyes. "Happy bloody birthday to *all* of us," Porthos says, and pushes his cock -- in -- 

And Aramis cannot close his mouth -- 

Aramis cannot *suck* --

Aramis whines and shakes *with* Athos -- 

Porthos *growls* and starts to thrust, to fuck, to fuck Aramis's *mouth*, and Athos is still holding Aramis's jaw open -- 

Aramis is drooling *helplessly* -- 

Porthos is staring down at him -- 

Into him -- 

He winces -- 

Aramis squeezes his *eyes* shut -- 

"No, love, *please*, please -- give me your *eyes*," Porthos says, stroking him, petting him, *urging* him -- 

Aramis can only obey, only -- 

"Your incredible eyes -- ah, *fuck*, love, you're so bloody *beautiful*," Porthos says, and winces again -- 

Winces *harder*, but Aramis knows -- 

This is lust. 

This is hunger. For *him*, even as he is in *this* moment, sweating and helpless and graceless and *drooling*.

This is -- 

And Athos is still shaking. 

The palm of his hand on Aramis's face is *slick* with sweat -- 

He is less panting than blowing like an overworked *horse*. 

He -- "I need. I need..." 

"You need to follow your own -- your own bloody *orders* and let *go*," Porthos says, yanking Athos's hand away from Aramis's jaw -- 

Athos *bucks* against him -- 

His cock slides so *hotly* in Aramis's *cleft* -- 

"I -- I --" And then Athos growls and *grips* Aramis cock hard enough -- 

Aramis *yells* -- 

"Close your pretty *mouth*, love," Porthos says, and then doesn't wait to *let* Aramis do it. He *holds* Aramis's mouth closed around -- 

Around his big, thick -- 

Aramis moans and moans, and *then* the flavours register -- thicker now, less deniable, more *perfectly* inhuman. Animal, *animal*, and the only reason Aramis isn't still dripping saliva on the floor is because Porthos is not *letting* him. 

He -- 

He is holding his cock in *place* within Aramis's mouth -- 

He is holding them both *still*, in this moment when Aramis honestly cannot remember how to suck, how to do anything more than lick and lap for more and more of his Porthos's delicious slick -- 

Copious and -- 

And *thick* -- 

Aramis is *moaning* -- 

"You're making me so bloody *hot*, love -- fuck, just -- just keep *doing* that --" 

Aramis nods and nods -- 

And *then* Athos starts stroking him fast again, fast and *hard*, and Aramis is writhing on his knees, groaning as much as *anything* else -- 

"Yeah, *now*," Porthos says, releasing Aramis's face and starting to *fuck* him again, in and in and -- 

In *deep* before Aramis can think -- 

Before Aramis can do more than gulp *reflexively* -- 

"Thought you had the practice," Porthos says with hungry *relish*, and -- 

His knot. 

His knot is *pressed* to Aramis's *lips*, and somehow it is even hotter than his cock, even thicker and -- 

And so vital, so -- 

Aramis kisses it, *sucks* kisses -- 

Porthos barks and *immediately* starts fucking Aramis's throat hard, fast, *filthily* -- 

Wet and slick and *raw* -- 

So -- 

"My. My God, *yes*," Athos says, and works Aramis's balls faster, *harder* -- 

Aramis wants to beg, needs to *beg*, and being on his knees to his good brothers -- *between* his good brothers -- only makes it more *imperative* -- 

He *shoves* himself back against Athos, and just as quickly needs to pump into his working fist, his -- 

His *strong* fist, hungry for him, *greedy* on his flesh, and -- 

"That's right, love, that's -- c'mon, *move* for it," Porthos says, and he is still caressing Aramis, tugging his hair, tracing his stretched lips with *reverent* fingers even as he fucks so hard, so *hard* -- 

And Athos is thrusting into Aramis's cleft faster -- 

So much -- 

And the head of *his* cock -- mushrooming, yes; *thick*, *rounded* and human; *drooling* -- 

The head of his cock catches on Aramis's rim over and over, making Athos gasp and Aramis shake -- 

Shake more, hunger, beg with everything he *is*, and -- 

"-- sodding *gorgeous* -- you're both so -- ah, *fuck*, Aramis, love, just take me, just *take* me --" 

"Yes. *Yes*, and I've always -- I didn't *know*." 

"That you -- that you needed him like this?" 

Athos huffs. "That I could ever have -- anything like this -- I. Both of you. With *both* of you --" 

"You know I'm always *yours*, Athos --" 

"Porthos, I -- *fuck*," Athos says, and starts thrusting *raggedly*. "And I -- Aramis, Aramis, if you allow it, I will leave not one part of your body *unbruised*." 

Aramis bucks and *chokes* -- 

Chokes on Porthos's *cock* -- 

He cannot -- he must not -- 

"Easy, love, you just..." And Porthos pants and *grinds* his way in -- 

In -- 

He gives Aramis *just* enough time to catch his *breath* -- 

And then he *slams* in deep -- and holds Aramis's head still for it, holds him -- just there. Just *there* for every thrust, every push, every -- yes, *grind*, and the curls at Porthos's groin are much softer than he'd ever imagined them to be, much -- 

Much more like...

Fur. 

Aramis's eyes fly open *wide* as he reaches to touch, to feel, to *examine* -- 

Porthos laughs breathlessly. "Yeah, that, *too*, love. But your face'll be less wrecked when I'm done with it for the evening, so I'll not -- not be *too* annoyed --" 

Athos groans. "Are. Are your *balls* furry." 

"Why'd you make *that* sound like an order?" 

"Because they aren't in my *mouth* and I'm *upset* about that," Athos says, and -- 

Aramis can't stop smiling -- 

Can't -- 

His brothers are *laughing*. They are happy, they are together, happy and together, naked as babes, honest -- 

*Together* -- 

Athos growls again -- "I can't -- I -- I will not *last*." 

"You're not -- not bloody *supposed* to, brother --" 

Athos *snorts*, loud and shocking -- 

Aramis reaches back to grip his hip because he must -- 

"Athos, *yes* --" 

"Oh -- oh, my *brothers*. I love you *both*," Athos says, and thrusts -- 

Porthos groans and *bucks* -- "*You*, brother. I love *you* -- bloody always *have* --" 

Aramis does his best to *nod* while he is being held -- 

While he is being *gripped* -- 

And Athos pants and swivels his *hips*, thrusts faster, *harder*, and now the head of his cock is slipping in, just a little, every time -- 

In and -- 

In and *stretching* -- 

"Do you. Do you like it, my Aramis?" And Athos's gasp is deep and shuddering. "Do you *want* it." 

Aramis's jaw *drops* in shock, need -- 

"Mouth *shut*, love," Porthos says -- but sticks his thumb in Aramis's mouth beside his cock before Aramis *can*, and now Aramis is drooling again, slurping messily, noisily -- 

Licking and writhing and -- 

And he's shoving himself into Athos's hands and *back* onto -- 

Onto his *cock*, and it is not slick enough, and it is not what he had *imagined* from his quiet and *constrained* brother -- 

But it *is* what he had imagined -- and *ached* for, from time to time -- from his *Porthos*. 

It -- 

He is hot all *over*, shaking and *weak* for this, for *all* of this -- 

Aramis is absolutely *certain* he would not be able to sit *upright*, or even kneel like he *is* doing -- much less *stand* -- were he not being supported by his brothers -- 

His good brothers -- 

His good, *hard* brothers, who have loved him, needed him -- *dreamed* -- 

And Aramis is nodding again, trying to give everything he is, trying to *promise*: He is *here*. He is *for* them, and he will *never* leave! Not -- 

And Athos is making sounds like a man being *kicked* improbably pleasurably as he rocks the head of his cock in so incrementally, so *harshly*, so *hungrily* -- 

And Porthos is growling, louder and deeper with seemingly every *thrust* -- 

And Athos's hands are *shaking* on Aramis's cock and balls -- they tighten almost *convulsively* -- 

Aramis *howls* around Porthos's cock -- 

Porthos barks and shoves in, stays in, grinds in-in-in, barking over and *over* even as his eyes widen in something which looks like the *marriage* of lust and *panic* -- 

"I -- have *desired*," Athos says, and bites Aramis's throat *hard*, hard enough to *bruise* -- 

Aramis can't gasp -- he groans in his chest and clenches *hard* on the head of Athos's cock, which remains *inside* him despite all the writhing and *bouncing* he has been doing -- 

Athos *sobs* -- and his cock *spasms* and begins to *spill*, pulsing and pulsing and filling Aramis's *arse* -- 

So -- 

Oh -- 

Aramis clenches over and over, wanting -- wanting and wanting to make it right, make it *good* for his brother, his beautiful -- 

"Ahn -- those *scents* --" And Porthos throws his head back and *shouts* a howl, animal and demanding, triumphant, *needy* -- all at once. All at *once*, and he's still grinding into Aramis's throat -- 

Still grinding his huge and throbbing *knot* against Aramis's sensitized *lips* -- 

Aramis sucks a *weak* kiss -- 

Porthos *bucks* and howls *again* -- and then he begins to spill down Aramis's throat, *hotter* than any spend Aramis has ever felt, and so -- 

So *strong* -- 

Aramis is blushing for it, trying to *nod* against the *grip* Porthos still has on his head -- 

He can't -- 

All he can do is *take* this -- 

All he *must* do is take this, and that -- 

That is every weight lifted, every pressure *removed*. Aramis swallows his Porthos's *intriguingly* copious spend and does his very best to milk his fat cock, to *urge* his fat *knot* -- 

Porthos *yelps* and bucks -- 

Spatters Aramis's throat twice *more* -- 

Aramis... continues to suckle. *He* does not lead this unit. Someone else can worry about breathing.


	8. To everything, lick, lick, lick, there is a season, lick, lick, lick...

It takes a bit of time -- 

And some *deeply* embarrassing noises -- 

And some even *more* embarrassing *staggering*, because apparently gaining a dog cock and knot also means you lose every *bit* of aplomb you've picked up since age sixteen or so -- 

And also Athos has to stop *biting* Aramis and clear his throat *that* way -- 

But, *eventually*, Porthos can one, stop *spending* -- 

Two, stand *up* -- 

And, most importantly, *three* -- *let Aramis bloody breathe*. 

Which... 

Well, at the moment he sounds a bit like someone punched the wind out of him with something much more impressive than a dog-cock, but since that is *entirely* Porthos's fault? He's shutting his gob and focusing on petting his love. 

While Athos *looks* at him. 

And that -- 

"Don't even start, brother. *You're* the one who *ordered* us to let go." 

"You should assume that look was for both of us." 

"Oh. Well, that's all right, then," Porthos says, and keeps petting. 

Athos also pets, which is excellent -- though he's only petting with one hand. The come-slick one is busy in that mouth of his. 

"Here, brother, leave off slurping up all that deliciousness so we can stand Aramis up. Make it easier for him to get his wind back, and all." 

"I..." 

"Mm?" 

"Perhaps..." And Athos is, abruptly, closer in shade to Porthos's cock than to anything like what he *should* look like. 

"Right, what am I missing here." 

"Ah..." And Aramis raises a hand -- 

Porthos licks his fingers. "Shh, love. *You* keep breathing." 

"Yes, my Porthos," Aramis says, and does just that. 

Porthos licks his temple -- and turns back to Athos. "So what's the problem, brother?" 

"It... I am currently inside Aramis." 

"What." 

"Partially --" 

"Bloody *what* --" 

"It seemed like an *excellent* idea at the time --" 

"*Athos*!" 

"-- and I would like to *remain* -- partially -- inside Aramis for just a few more minutes." 

Porthos stares at Athos. 

Athos looks back... sheepishly. And very, very happily. That... 

Porthos snorts. "Right, brother, *remind* us to sober you up every now and again. *Exciting* shit happens when we do." 

Athos huffs. "I believe I wish to *immediately* dive into the *nearest* bottle --" And then Athos *grunts* -- 

Looks *glassy*-eyed -- 

Licks his *lips* -- "I... hm." 

"Aramis just clenched, didn't he." 

"Multiple -- ah. Yes." 

Porthos shows his tongue. "You no longer have any sodding idea *what* you believe. Do you." 

"Not so, brother. I believe *strongly* that *both* of us should spend lengthy periods of time exploring the numerous... possibilities inherent to leisure time with our Aramis." 

Aramis interrupts his breathing to purr. 

Porthos nods judiciously -- and gets a hand on that long, pretty cock of his. 

"Oh -- my Porthos --" 

"Right you are, brothers. Let's *explore* us all *vigorously*." 

And -- 

It *isn't* that he hasn't had *stacks* of fantasies that started with him reaching over and grabbing Aramis by the cock -- he absolutely *has*. 

It's just that there's something more about being here now. About being in *Treville's* house with his *brothers* -- because Treville *wants* them there, and wants them to know *his* love, and wants them all to share *their* love with each other, and also with him and his Jason.

And -- there's a lot to that sharing which hasn't been *discussed*, yet, and Porthos is *definitely* getting more than a little *impatient* for that -- 

But. 

That doesn't mean the *feel* of it all isn't warm. 

Isn't -- isn't good, and right, and *home*, somehow *home* -- though fuck only knows that part's terrifying, too. 

He doesn't have to think about that, yet. 

All he has to think about is the fact that he's in a warm, comfortable room in a warm, comfortable house with his brothers. 

He loves them, and they love him and each other. They're *together*, finally the way he's *always* bloody wanted and *never* thought he'd have. And...

And that means *one* thing: Let go, just like Athos says. Bend for it. *Give* for it. Give everything of yourself. *Show* everything -- and right now, for this moment -- 

That means nuzzle right in and -- 

And.

Well, Porthos was *expecting* to start *kissing* Aramis's cock -- he has about a *million* fantasies that start *and* end there *very* messily -- but what he's *actually* doing -- 

"Oh. Can you lengthen your tongue even further than that, brother...?" 

And -- 

"My -- my *Porthos*!" 

*Because*, what he's *actually* doing is licking all *over* Aramis's cock, and bollocks, and mound, and inner *thighs*, and *belly* -- 

"Please! *Please*!" 

Well. At least Aramis is *enjoying* it, because really, this is not what he'd bloody wanted to *do* -- 

(Tighten your lead, son.) 

What the bloody hell -- *Daddy*. 

(*Every* time you call me that, son -- including those times when you're doing it to *roast* me -- I'm losing my *mind*,) Treville says, and his smile is -- rueful. Soft. 

It -- Porthos winces internally. I apologize -- 

(Don't even think about it, son. We can *both* feel that a large part of you *means* it when you call me Daddy -- and that's... that's everything beautiful.) 

Oh fuck -- 

(Shh. On to important business: You want to *suck* your Aramis's cock. Don't you.) 

Oh -- bloody *yes*. And I can't -- 

(You can't stop licking. You can't stop lapping. You can't stop dragging your tongue over and over that hot, twitching flesh --) 

Ah -- ah, *fuck* -- 

(That's right, son. You *can't* be just another human right now, can you?) 

No, I --

(What you can do, though... is *think* about what you're doing.) 

But -- I can't -- I'm just licking all over him like -- like a *dog* -- 

(Like a shifter, son. Like the shifter you will *always* be, and... doesn't it feel good?)

Oh.

(Doesn't it feel... just right?) 

Daddy, I --

(*Focus* on it...) 

I can't just -- I -- 

(You can and you *will*,) Treville says, hard and *sharp* -- 

And just like that, Aramis's flavours are everything, all over Porthos's face, all over Porthos's *beard* -- 

His musk is so perfect, so rich, so *healthy* -- 

His musk is telling Porthos that he needs this, *exactly* this, that Porthos is doing the right things -- 

Or -- 

Maybe -- 

Maybe what's talking to him, what's whispering to him so *sweetly*, is the way Aramis is touching him, stroking him -- 

Pushing his long, deft fingers through Porthos's curls -- 

Tugging at his beard -- 

Petting his cheeks and -- and -- 

(*Focus*.) 

"-- my *Porthos*, *yes*," Aramis says, and he is breathless, moaning -- 

"Your cock is -- mm. So very hard, my Aramis --" 

"He -- he --" 

"He is tasting you. *Molesting* you with his perfect and perfectly-*animal* tongue," Athos says -- 

And Aramis *shouts*, cock jerking, spattering Porthos's cheek -- 

Porthos *grips* it -- 

"*Please*, *yes*!" 

Porthos licks to promise, to soothe, to *demand* -- 

Aramis sobs and *grips* Porthos's hair -- 

"My Aramis... will you spend?" 

Aramis whines so -- 

So -- 

Porthos *has* to drag his whole face against Aramis's cock -- 

Aramis gasps and shouts -- 

"Oh. His beard... is it excruciating right now, my Aramis?" 

"I -- I --" 

"Would you like it to be?" 

And Porthos catches himself *nipping* at the base of Aramis's cock -- 

"*Fuck*!" 

Nipping all the way *up* --

"That is positively *inspired*, brother --"

And Porthos *wants* to respond to Athos, wants to at least give him a *look*, but Aramis is howling again -- 

*Choking* on that howl and gasping -- 

*Wailing*, and Porthos's cock is thickening again, *dripping* -- 

But that's *nothing* compared to the throbbing *ache* in Porthos's knot when he reaches the *head* of Aramis's cock -- and Aramis spurts all over his mouth and *beard*, *fuck* -- 

Porthos *growls* and licks it *up*, licks up every *drop* -- 

Aramis *sobs* a breath -- 

"Shh, my Aramis, you must..." And Athos takes a *panting* breath. "You must be precisely who you are, at all times, in all *ways* --"

Aramis *slumps* back against Athos -- 

Athos clutches him and kisses his cheek -- 

And Porthos can -- after a *bit* -- stop licking. 

And lick his own face. 

For a bit. 

(All set, son?) 

What the bloody *hell* -- you were supposed to help me --

(Focus...?)

Porthos does his best to *look* at Treville -- 

Who laughs like an *arsehole* -- 

Porthos looks *harder* -- 

(Oh, son, *son* -- there is a time and place for control -- and, thus, for the man in you...) Treville says, and his eyebrow-raise might as well be a touch, a *grip* -- 

And Porthos gets it. You're saying there's a time and place for -- for the dog in me, too.

(That's right, son. That will *always* be right with the people who make up your pack.) 

I -- with. With the people who can -- and should -- always know exactly what I'm about.

(There you are.) 

Porthos nods once, looks *outward* -- 

Athos is kissing Aramis's cheek, his temple, his shoulder -- 

Athos is stroking and petting -- no, *molesting* is the *much* more accurate word -- Aramis's chest and belly -- 

Petting closer and closer and *closer* to that still-twitching cock -- while Aramis *sprawls* against Athos, legs splayed and arms *shaking*. Aramis's head is back on Athos's shoulder, and he's murmuring something in Latin that sounds less like a prayer than an invocation to debauchery. 

Which. 

Athos's meets Porthos's gaze and raises an *eyebrow* -- 

Porthos licks his *lips* -- We uh. We're going to need a *bit* more time, Daddy.

(Right you are, son. Jason and I will amuse ourselves... somehow...) 

Porthos considers that...

A bit...

Licks his lips *again* -- 

And smiles helplessly at the -- twinned -- laughter in his mind as he crawls right over to *help* Athos with their Aramis.


	9. You say manipulate; I say manip-you-great!

Jason lies back against the pillows on Treville's large, warm, and ever-welcoming bed -- and watches Treville gently -- and telepathically -- torture his son. 

There is a *fascinating* *collection* of expressions dancing across his amant's face -- everything from wild, shameless joy; to a hope that seems almost tremulous; to *mad* love; to an *entirely* doggish amusement... and, perhaps, other things which move too quickly for *Jason* to catch after only nineteen months with Treville as his lover. 

As his love. 

But...

There is something specific to *this* moment, something -- 

There is the specific *knowledge* that Treville -- *his* amant, and they have declared this countless times in countless *ways* over the past nineteen months -- 

Treville has looked at *Jason*... in *precisely* the same ways he is looking at the Porthos who is, currently, down the main stairs and round the corner from where *they* are. 

*Treville*... loves Jason. This is not, by any means, the *first* time he's had that thought -- or warmed himself to that thought, or *purred* for that thought, or *wallowed* in that thought -- but it's the first time he's been given the chance to have it while watching his amant love someone *else*. 

Love the boy -- the *man* -- whom *Jason* knew from the very beginning of his *acquaintance* with Treville was the lodestone of Treville's *existence* -- though, of course, he had not yet known that *Porthos* was that man. And yet -- 

And yet, there is this moment, when his amant reaches for Jason's spirit so easily, so *comfortably* -- 

When his amant all but *shows his relationship with Jason off* to Porthos, demanding that Porthos *think* about the two of them together, about, perhaps, their *history* together --

Jason can't help but laugh *delightedly* -- 

And Porthos, who has spent this entire evening showing himself to be as large and welcoming of heart as any child of Treville -- or, to be fair, any *dog* -- *should* be -- 

Porthos smiles at them, warmly and easily, and turns his attention back to his brothers. 

Which, of course, leaves *Jason* with an amant -- 

"You've been awfully quiet this last little while, lover," Treville says, and takes a sip of wine.

\-- who knows a *fair* amount of what Jason has been *thinking*. 

"Not enough," Treville says, and lifts his nose. "Never enough." 

Jason can't keep from making a soft, hungry noise for Treville's doggishness -- 

For every moment of every *day* he lets himself off the *lead* -- 

And -- 

And *now*... his amant is growling, low and under his breath. 

Jason sends the shadows to tug *meaningfully* at the laces of Treville's breeches -- which are, in point of fact, the only item of clothing *either* of them are wearing. 

It's still far too much. 

Jason tugs just a bit more...

"Lover." But that, of course, was his amant's *serious* voice, and -- 

It must not ever be denied. Jason reaches up to stroke Treville's soft mouth and softer beard. "Truly, amant, there is no trouble whatsoever." 

Treville raises an eyebrow -- 

And Jason smiles ruefully. "The *lack* of trouble is, in fact, what was troubling me." 

Treville *coughs* a laugh -- "Ah. Hm." This eyebrow is more quirked than *actively* questioning -- his amant can be a very, very gentle man when he *thinks* Jason does not wish to answer questions. Still...

This is a conversation worth having. "I was... surprised by the ways you responded to Porthos. In truth, by the ways you responded to *all* of your sons," Jason says, and pets Treville's mouth, and cheek, and mouth again -- 

And again when that mouth frowns. 

"I was *surprised*... by the fact that you did *not* make me feel forgotten, unwanted, irrelevant, or, simply, *obsolete*," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Treville *grunts*, eyes widening -- and then narrowing again. "Are you --" 

"I am certain. You... well." Jason smiles somewhat helplessly.

"Jason?" 

"In *this* moment? I cannot help thinking about the fact that you took every chance *possible* this evening -- while crafting still *more* chances -- to... show me off." 

"Of *course* I --" 

"You've wanted to." 

"*Yes* --" 

"You've... needed to?" And Jason did not want to make that a *question*, but -- 

But it leads -- as, perhaps, it *had* to with *this* man -- to Treville rolling them and *pinning* Jason, shoving Jason's thighs apart with his knees and pressing Jason's wrists down to the bed above his *head*. 

"You truly do have *all* of my attention, amant." 

Treville cocks his head to the side and growls -- 

And growls -- 

And -- flares his nostrils. 

"I... the attention you do *not* have is *solely* focused on my *increasingly* needy cock --" 

"Lover." 

"I -- yes." 

"You brought me back to life after everything around me was ashes and *dust* --" 

"*You* --" 

"And then? You came back and taught me how to fill the spheres with colours again. Light. Heat. *Scent*. *Life*. *Your* life --" 

"Amant, you've needed --" 

"I needed you before I ever saw your face, lover -- and one of the reasons *why* I needed you?" 

Jason licks his lips -- "Please, tell me." 

Treville leans in and licks long stripes up both sides of Jason's face, and there is no part of Jason which cannot feel his own beardlessness, cannot *know* it -- and cannot know Treville's *endless* desire for it *on* him. 

"*Please*." 

"Lover... you *teach* me." 

Jason blinks. "I -- I would always... I *will* always --" 

"Shh. All of this? All of the ways I apparently *didn't* hurt you?" 

"Yes?" 

Treville bares his teeth. "I could've. I could've done it so *easily* --" 

"No --" 

"*Yes* -- had I been just a little more of a fool." 

"You *aren't* --" 

"Had I been just a little more *reckless* and *cavalier* -- which we *both* know I am all the bloody *time*." 

Jason -- breathes. 

And Treville nods and, after a moment, releases one of Jason's wrists and strokes down and down to Jason's face. "But we fixed that, mm?" 

"We... yes?" 

"You taught me *how* to fix it, lover," Treville says, and cups Jason's cheek. "You showed me my -- dangerous -- weaknesses, *and* how to *best* them." And Treville raises an eyebrow. 

That -- Jason hears himself make a *desperate* noise -- "I didn't mean to *manipulate* you --" 

"Shh," Treville says, and *grips* Jason by the jaw. "You *taught* me, lover -- the way you always do. The way I'll always bloody *live* for. I'll *let* you call that manipulation if it makes you happy -- but I really don't think it does." And Treville's eyes gleam *hot* -- 

And Treville's *power* reaches *within* Jason -- 

*Slams* itself along their bond and *yanks* -- and. 

And there is no part of Jason which is not on its *knees*. 

Treville flares his nostrils once, twice -- 

Leans in to nuzzle and snuffle and nuzzle at Jason's *throat*, and -- 

And Jason spreads his legs wider than Treville is spreading them *for* him, feeling impatient, greedy, *needy* -- 

"Perfect," Treville says, and licks through the sweat on Jason's throat, up over Jason's chin -- "*Perfect*," he says, and bites Jason's lips -- 

"Please -- *please*." 

"Beg for what you want, mm? Give me that." And Treville bites Jason's left cheek, slow and *hard* -- 

"Oh --" 

And his right -- 

And his *ear*, slowly and viciously and *meditatively* all at once -- 

"Beg." 

"Please keep *biting* --" 

"Thank you," Treville says, and *yanks* Jason's head to the side before *immediately* breaking the skin in a massive and *hard* bite to Jason's throat -- 

Jason gasps -- 

Bucks and bucks and gasps *again* -- 

Grips at his own *wrists* -- 

(Good boy,) Treville says, and -- suckles, not sucks. Gently enough that Jason *knows* that his blood is leaking all over Treville's face -- 

That it *must* be staining his *beard* -- 

Jason's cock *spasms* -- "Please bite me more *places*!" 

(Good *boy*,) Treville says, and laps and laps at the bite on Jason's throat -- 

Nuzzles into Jason's armpit and bites *gently* -- 

"Fuck --" 

And then Treville is biting his way down Jason's side, onto Jason's chest, bypassing his nipples to growl and *worry* at Jason's abdominal muscles, the skin near his navel -- 

"Oh -- oh, *amant* --" 

Treville snarls and looks *up* -- "Let. Yourself. *Bruise*." 

Jason *grunts* -- but he'd done the necessary magic practically without thinking about it. It -- "*Yes*, amant, please --" 

"Here," he says, and grips Jason by the backs of his knees, shoves Jason's legs back to his *chest* -- 

"Oh --" 

\-- and immediately begins biting long, looping, *bruising* paths along Jason's inner thighs, sucking as he bites, licking and lapping as he *sucks*, and Jason's skin has come over in gooseflesh, Jason is shivering and writhing in *place* for it -- 

Jason -- 

His amant knows *precisely* how much Jason loves to *feel* him, feel him *everywhere* -- 

(You'll feel me tonight...) 

"*Yes* --" 

(You'll feel me... mm. Every day and every night I *want* you to feel me, lover,) Treville says, and nuzzles his way up between Jason's thighs -- 

Noses at Jason's *balls* -- 

(Can you guess how many days and nights that will be, lover? Mm?) 

And Jason truly, *truly* wishes he had something intelligent to say to answer his amant, but Treville is *nipping* his balls -- 

Over and over and -- 

Jason groans and *shakes* -- 

(Can you guess how long I'll *keep* my home and heart and love and *life*.) 

"Treville -- I -- I can't *think* --" 

Treville *pauses* with his teeth just *barely* digging into a fold of skin on Jason's sac -- 

Pauses and *obviously* considers for long *moments* --

And then he closes his *lips* around Jason's sac and *hums* -- 

"*Fuck* --" 

(*Don't* think, Jason. Don't think about anything, at all,) Treville says, and sucks hard -- 

So very -- 

He never holds *back* -- and neither of them ever *have* to. There need never be *limits* between them, and the thought of that -- 

The *dream* of that steals Jason's breath even as the feel of Treville *raking* his human claws down Jason's thighs makes him *shout*. 

It's so *much* -- *too* much to encompass on a moment to moment basis, but it would be a disservice to both of them to not think about it -- 

To -- if not *deny* the truths and possibilities of it, then *ignore* them in favor of more immediate pleasures. This -- 

They can have *everything* -- 

(Very true, lover. And we can -- and will -- have it for the next... ever,) Treville says, and sucks and *slurps* his way off Jason's sac -- 

Jason gasps -- 

"Give me a shadow -- slick and just a *bit* stiffer than our usual," Treville says, and raises a *sharp* eyebrow. 

"Perhaps... several shadows?" But Jason sends the *requested* shadow immediately -- 

Treville's grin is just as sharp as he shakes his head. "I won't restrain you this time, lover. You're going to move the way I want you to move *when* I want you to move. Aren't you." 

Jason's belly -- drops. "I -- yes, amant. It will be as you say. How should I --" 

"Hold the backs of your knees... mm. Just like that... or..." And Treville cocks his head to the side as he drags the stiffened, *dripping* -- Jason *knows* his beloved hound -- shadow up and down Jason's cleft. 

"I... am absolutely listening..." 

"You're right about the restraints," he says, and frowns judiciously. 

"Mm -- I. Yes?" 

"Oh, yes. You're breathing *far* too much," Treville says, reaching for the All-Mother with -- Jason can *feel* -- a half-conscious narrowing of his eyes -- 

And abruptly Jason is wearing a collar of thick, smooth vines that are growing longer and *tighter* even as he gasps, winding themselves round and round -- 

A collar which *must* have grown up out of the *floor* of this room -- 

The part of it Jason can see is writhing and *twisting* along the left side of the bed -- and down over the edge into the distinctly green-tinted shadows -- as it tightens *more* --

Jason *flexes* his throat -- 

Tests -- he'll be able to take *shallow* breaths *only*, and Treville can see him realizing it --

Treville is *rumbling* at him -- and *shoving* the shadow in -- 

In -- 

*In* in a rocking, *jerking* motion that only *glances* off Jason's pleasure-button -- 

"*That's* no good," Treville says, sucking his teeth and *gleaming* at Jason. "*Thicker*." 

"I --" 

"Don't make *either* of us wait, lover..." 

"Please, I only wish to know how *prepared* you wish for me to be --" 

Treville barks a laugh -- "We both know you *won't* be prepared -- no matter *how* wide I open you up," he says, and his smile is no more sharp and *gleaming* than his gaze. "Now don't we." 

Jason grunts and *clenches* -- and forces himself to thicken the shadow *before* he flexes open again. He forces girth and *power* into it, making it that much more difficult for him to *withstand*. 

It will never be another man's *cock* -- but, like this, it's rather more than *just* an enchanted toy. 

Especially in the hands of his amant, who rumbles in approval at the shadow's greater heft, *grips* the back of Jason's right thigh, and starts *screwing* his way into Jason's arse -- while looking Jason's *folded* body over like a half-completed *project*. 

"Ah... if I may ask..."

"I'll consider it," Treville says, and screws in *hard* -- 

"*Fuck* -- I -- please tell me what you're *thinking* --" 

"Mm. Am I hiding from you, lover? I'm certainly not doing it on *purpose* --" 

"I don't want to use my power -- for this. I want --" 

"You want to hear me *talk* about it," Treville says, and rumbles more -- 

More -- 

And starts simply *fucking* Jason again, hard and *fast* for several beats before slowing down -- "I'm thinking about making you *hurt* yourself for me, Jason..." 

"Oh --"

"I'm thinking about your nipples, your bollocks... your cock, of course, but also of the *spectacular* bruises rising on that gorgeous freckled belly of yours --" 

"*Yes*. That --" Is *remarkably* vicious for his amant... "I'll do what you *wish*, amant --" 

"Of course you will," Treville says, and fucks in hard -- 

Hard -- 

*Hard* -- "You're mine," he says, simple and sure. 

"*Yes*!" 

"*Just* like I'm yours, lover -- now and forever. Why don't you let me see you pinch and *twist* your nipples. Tease me. *Promise* me."

Jason moans and -- obeys. 

*Obeys*, and at first he can only see Treville's gleaming-hot eyes -- 

He can only *feel* Treville's gaze, Treville's rising -- *spiraling* -- hunger as he growls and fucks Jason *fast* and hard again, so -- 

So -- 

But there is something about the need to take more of Treville, to try to *rock* onto the shadow the man is wielding -- 

To be *growled* back to *stillness* -- and there it is, the *feel* of what Jason's doing to himself: The bright, sharp shocks of sensation as he pinches and twists and *tugs* his nipples, rhythmic and harsh and, yes, *promising* -- 

This -- 

"This -- amant, this is *yours* --" 

"*You're* mine." 

"Yes --" 

"*Say* it." 

"I'm yours!" 

Treville snarls and kneels up, *grips* his knot with his free hand -- 

Barks *twice* as his massively erect cock spits slick all over *Jason's* cock and belly -- 

"I love you so *much* --" 

"*Please*, I love *you* --" 

"*Hurt* yourself more. *Feel* for me. Feel *everything* --" 

"*Always* -- please tell me how!" 

"Slap your *face*." 

"*Fuck* --" He does it, wishing immediately for a better angle, a way to make the sound *crack* -- 

He does it again -- that was better -- 

He *starts* to do it again -- but Treville is gripping his wrist, yanking it to his mouth, his hungry mouth -- 

Treville bites the heel of Jason's palm and *holds* it between his teeth for his long and low and *needy* growls, and his thrusts with the shadow have become short, sharp, *rutting* -- 

*Promising* -- 

They both know what he *needs* -- and what Jason is *aching* for. He -- 

Jason can't catch his breath, can't *take* a deep breath with the vines around his throat, can't -- 

His mind is *swimming* -- 

He is so *hard* -- 

And Treville looks to Jason from over Jason's own fingers, studies him with his hot, *wild* eyes -- "You're absolutely right, lover. Get this shadow out of the *way*." 

"*Yes*, amant --" 

"There you are, and -- mm. You're so *fucking* hot inside, lover, so -- I can feel you on the tip of my cock just like -- you're so bloody *perfect* and I --" Treville snarls again, rolling his head on his neck --- "*Don't* breathe," he says -- 

The vines tighten *impossibly* -- 

Jason's *tongue* slips *out* -- 

Treville grins *savagely* -- and thrusts *in*, one long stroke that turns every hopeful little line Jason gives himself in the lean times about how good the shadows feel in his own arse in the absence of a cock; how, truly, they're good *enough* -- into nothing but smoke, ashes, *pathetic* lies. *This* is the truth he needs -- 

This -- 

This -- oh, like *this*: choked-silent, spread, and fucked *open*, Jason can believe Treville and his *perfectly* animal cock are the *only* truths he needs. An honest dog in a dishonest world -- a hungry hound for the *starved* *demon* Jason's become. 

This. *This*, and Jason is arching for it, begging with his *body* because Treville hasn't given him *permission* to beg with his *mind* -- 

Because Treville has *yanked* Jason's legs around his waist and covered him, gripped Jason by the hair, shoved a thumb into his smiling *mouth* --

Jason wouldn't say a word even if he *could* -- 

"Oh -- oh, lover -- *fuck*. Just -- give me -- *this*," Treville says, and starts to thrust, starts to -- 

They're the *long* strokes that always make Treville shake and *strain* within seeming moments as the dog within him and the dog he *is* demand something *better* -- 

"Nothing -- nothing -- better than *you*," Treville says, and of *course* he's listening even now, of course his amant -- *his* -- is *reaching* for him -- 

Reaching even as he growls and speeds *up*, drives in, *lifts* Jason with every thrust -- 

And Jason's vision is starting to fade around the edges even as every *part* of him *thrills* for the feel of Treville's *power* reaching deep within him, taking everything *of* him -- 

There is nothing he can *hide* -- 

"*Never* --" 

There is nothing he *will* hide. 

And -- 

He's started helplessly *trying* to gasp and getting *nothing* -- 

The part of him which will always *be* Etrigan is watching now, ominously and portentously and *protectively* *watching* -- and that, more than anything else, tells Jason precisely how *far* Treville is taking this, how far -- 

How far Jason will always *go* for -- 

This -- 

His cock is jerking and -- and -- 

His belly drops and he *clenches* helplessly, and he can't -- 

He can't *remember* how to open himself -- 

"Fuck, ah -- ah, *fuck* -- *now*," Treville says, loosening the vine -- 

Jason gasps and *then* flexes open -- 

And Treville starts to *rut*, just like that, shoving in deep and *pounding* in fast and hard and so -- 

So -- 

Jason can't *stop* himself from wrapping his legs tighter around Treville's hips and *hauling* him in, *urging* him in -- 

"You. Need my *knot*." 

"*Please*!" 

"The answer -- is always *yes*," Treville says, and he's all but *chewing* the words, teeth lengthening as he slams in harder -- 

*Harder*, and Jason needs more, needs *more* -- 

"*Yes*," Treville says, reaching back with the hand he *doesn't* have wound in Jason's hair to spread Jason's arse and then thrusting -- 

In -- 

Oh, *in*, and the frontal curve of Treville's knot is always a gasping shock, a shivering promise of things to *come*, and Jason is nodding stupidly, licking his lips, *begging* with everything he *is* -- 

He can't wait for *permission* -- 

"Maybe I'll. Punish you *this* way," Treville says, and shoves *in* -- 

Jason howls and clenches *helplessly* around what his body *knows* is the greater part of Treville's knot -- 

Treville *sings* a howl, tongue lengthening as he grinds and grinds and *pushes* -- 

Jason pants and *writhes* beneath Treville, cock jerking and drooling -- 

There are so many colours in his vision -- 

His eyes are crossing -- 

"I *told* you. You're never *ready*," Treville says, and shoves in *again* -- 

Oh -- 

Oh, all the way *in*, and Jason is gasping and almost *keening* for it -- 

He can't *stop* himself -- 

He's *clutching* Treville with his arms and legs like a *child* -- 

"Like. My. *Lover*," Treville says, and licks Jason's mouth, his cheeks, the tears at the corners of his eyes, his mouth again and *again* -- 

"Please -- oh, *please*, amant --" 

"I *love* you. I -- I -- say *yes*." 

"Yes! Always *yes*! Ple--" But the rest of that is a whistling *grunt*, because Treville yanks Jason's head back by the hair, *takes* the front of his throat in a bite -- and starts to rut with vicious, needful, animal *force*. 

Jason shudders and whines and *clenches* -- 

Treville bites him *harder* -- and Jason goes loose, shivering and aching, *aching* -- 

A part of him is *insisting* that he has been *desperate* to spend since walking into Treville's office several hours ago --

A different part of Jason is insisting that he has simply been *desperate* since Treville first began his efficient -- if terrifyingly *brief* -- interrogation of Jason while Jason had been in the process of dying in the man's turnip field. 

Both of those parts are entirely *correct* -- but neither of them are as vital to his existence, right now, as the parts of him which are letting him *hold* his amant, pet him, urge him to keep -- 

Oh, keep taking him *apart*. 

Every bite, every growl, every *yip* -- and every rough-slamming *shove* into Jason's arse as Treville drives them both closer to where they need to be. 

It's in moments like these that Jason dreams of being *whipped* wherever Treville *wishes* while he *crawls*. 

It's in moments like these that Jason *remembers* every time he's *convinced* Treville to knot his *mouth* -- and *stay* there, *right* there, until the spheres blackened and quieted and *simplified* around Jason to nothing *but* his amant -- and the perfect *brutality* of his love. 

(Is that so...) 

Oh -- 

But Treville bites Jason *harder* before Jason can say a word or finish a thought, cutting off his air again -- 

Making him *bleed* again -- 

Binding them, binding them and re-binding them, and *taking* Jason, *demanding* Jason for *himself*, and there's no resistance to that, no possibility of -- 

Of -- 

Jason gives himself *over* to it, feels his body go loose, pliant -- he is precisely as *available* as he always wants to *be* -- 

Treville *snarls* and fucks him *harder*, moving Jason like the world's *happiest* ragdoll -- 

Fucking them both up the *bed* -- 

*Slamming* the headboard into the wall, and -- 

And everything is simple. Everything is, if not quiet, then *comprehensible*: *This* man, and everything which comes with him. *This* man, and the way he *howls* into the flesh of Jason's throat even as he reaches down for Jason's *cock* -- 

*This* man, and the pleasure he *demands*, from Jason and *for* Jason -- 

(*Spend* -- *spend* for --) 

Jason's already spurting, spine and mind and *soul* igniting, flaring with wild fire, wild *colours*, even as he howls silently into the space their souls share, even as he coughs and whistles, aloud, into the air -- 

Choking and gasping and gasping and *shouting* a howl into his amant's *face* as Treville breaks the bite and *looms* over him -- 

*Works* Jason's cock and ruts into him with the *ruthlessly* fast strokes of an animal with no control left, snarling and panting -- 

Wincing and *yelping* as his knot swells still more -- 

More and *more*, and Jason is gasping, nodding, begging for *exactly* what he *has* -- 

"You -- *you*," Treville says, throwing his head back and howling like the beast he is, howling sharp and *pained*, shaking and *shoving* in, arrhythmic and *brutal* as he spurts -- 

And spurts -- 

And -- mm...

Jason holds his amant *very* tightly through his shudders and spasms, and then focuses on petting him through his panting. 

After a *little* while -- and rather a bit of tugging -- Treville allows himself to be pulled down into something of a partially-furred blanket... 

"I." Treville pants a little more -- 

Licks Jason's throat twice -- 

"I'd be much less comfortable for you in this position if I were *fully*-furred, lover." 

"*Very* true. Why don't you keep breathing...?" 

"I..." 

"No?" 

Treville rolls them -- carefully, expertly -- onto their sides, braiding their legs just so -- 

They've done this *often* enough that an *excessively* masochistic part of Jason has come to *enjoy* the shifting and *tugging* of it -- but, truly, there is *absolute* comfort in the sense of *weight* within him once they *are* settled. 

"Mm. Happy to oblige, lover. But..." 

"Yes...?"

Treville looks at him. "I can't help but feel a certain lack of... *something* when you jump right into gentling *me* after we make love this way," he says, and raises a very, very pointed eyebrow. 

Which...

Is entirely well-aimed, truly. 

"Yes...?" 

Jason smiles ruefully and rests one hand over Treville's gradually-slowing heart. 

Treville cups it and leans in to nuzzle Jason's mouth before leaning back *just* far enough to meet his gaze. "Tell me, lover. Tell me everything." 

"Sometimes I pull myself out of that particular mindset because I feel... too vulnerable in one way or another." 

Treville frowns, and absolutely deserves to. 

Jason nods. "I promise you, amant, I *have* been working on that. Everything you've said and done since the *moment* we met has earned my vulnerability." 

"Are you --" 

"I'm certain of that. Especially since the question of vulnerability is *not* why I pulled myself back *tonight*," Jason says, and smiles *wryly*. 

Treville squeezes Jason's hand -- and flares his nostrils seemingly reflexively. "I'm all ears, lover." 

"I started feeling the need to *cling* to you not long after you entered me with your cock, amant --" 

"I noticed, and it was bloody wonderful, but --" 

"But that wasn't the same, no. It did, however, lead very *naturally* into needing to *hold* you -- and hold you *to* me. Especially once you started shaking and... well," Jason says, and raises his eyebrows.

Treville hums. "I would think you'd be used to all those excruciatingly *pained* noises I make when I spend by *now*, lover…"

Jason laughs wryly. "Absolutely not." 

"*You're* the one with all the shifters in your past --" 

"Amant. All of *them*? Had *entirely* positive relationships with the All-Mother, who thus didn't feel the need to give them the sorts of knots which caused them to *whine* and *yelp* and *whimper* and *weep* --" 

"Hey, I only weep when I spend *sometimes* --" 

"*And* you enjoy the pain immensely, yes, I *know*. *Still* --" 

"Still, lover? *Let me pet you*." 

"I..." 

Treville *looks* at him. 

Jason licks his lips... and tries, very hard, not to think about how very much time he will *wish* to spend being cuddled and petted if he allows Treville to *begin*. "Hm. I... suppose..." 

"Jason." 

"You do realize that your *sons* are going to be looking for us to --" 

"Lover, if we make them wait too long? They'll just go back to desecrating the study, and I'm frankly looking forward to spending the next eight months or so *further* desecrating that room, and then *chewing* on all the rugs and furnishings," Treville says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Jason considers that -- 

Considers the *numerous* possibilities within that further desecration -- 

"You do that, lover. And --" 

"Please -- pet me." 

Treville's rumble is immediate, somewhat *explosive*, and seems to thrum right through Jason. They're pressed that tightly together, and Treville is using his powerful arms to try to hold Jason closer still -- and he's petting Jason in the slow, firm strokes they both like best -- 

In the slow, firm strokes that speak not just of comfort, warmth, and *mutual* love, but of home, and safety, and of the particular and peculiar luxury inherent to having a surfeit of all of the *above*. 

For tonight -- 

"And for every night thereafter, lover. Let's recall the immortality you *gave* me," Treville says, licking Jason's cheek. 

"We... we truly need only a bit of luck..." 

"Mm, well, you *could* sound a bit less *dejected* about that --" 

Jason laughs helplessly -- 

And Treville grins against Jason's cheek and squeezes him again. "My lover. My *beautiful* lover. We'll fight for each other, no matter what. In the end? That's the only promise *I* need." 

Jason makes an *effort* -- and manages to make a disgusted sound. "*Romantic*." 

"It's not my fault you took up with a Frenchman." 

Jason snorts -- 

"There, there, lover. Give it time. We'll have you reciting poetry, guzzling down pastry --" 

"And spend?" 

"And spend, and --" 

"Juggling three to seven lovers at a time?"

"Honestly, Jason, I don't know where else you thought all that spend was going to come from," Treville says, and his tone is light, but -- 

But, when he pulls back, just a little, his expression is serious.

"Jason. You know that *you* hold my lead now and forever, right?"

And that... is a promise Treville has made more than once, and made with absolute honesty every time.

*Every* time -- including this one. 

Just the same... Jason kisses Treville softly, lingering, and with every bit of his soul on offer. 

"Mm -- yours --" 

"Mine -- and *yours*," Jason says, and twines their fingers together. "There's one thing that is, perhaps, of equal importance to the fact that I hold your lead -- at least in this context," he says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Treville frowns and flares his nostrils -- and *then* reaches within Jason's thoughts. And then *blinks* -- "I... you spent a lot of time... thinking about my boys *before* I introduced you. *Exactly* as much as you intimated." 

Jason inclines his head. And smiles ruefully. "I can -- very easily -- continue to pretend that I've done nothing of the kind, and thus continue to act as though you're the only one in this bed whose feelings for your sons are complex and *heated*, but... I believe I'd rather be honest." 

Treville squeezes his hand. "Then why don't you tell me what *you* want, lover." 

"I --" 

"What do you want with *our* children, lover." 

"*Fuck* -- *Treville* --" 

"That's who they'll be. That's who we'll *make* them -- and it will not take long," Treville says, gaze hard and -- utterly implacable. 

*Undeniable*. Jason winces and nods. 

"You're back to wanting to hide from this." 

"Of *course* I am --" 

"Don't do it," Treville says, and squeezes Jason's hand again. 

"Why the bloody hell *not*? You don't need my *help* to bugger your children --" 

"No. I don't. And? In the end? The boys don't *need* *either* of our cocks. But they *do* need *you*."

"What --" 

"They need your knowledge, and your expertise. They need your wisdom and your *wit*. They need your comfort and your *love* --" 

"Amant, they *don't* --" 

"They do," Treville says, quietly and evenly. "Because all three of them have vast, gaping holes in their lives where the love of a parent -- or a guardian, or even a *mentor* -- would go. All three of them are empty, and aching, and *lonely* for *this*, Jason. They are in need -- and you knew that already. Didn't you." 

Jason -- stares. Only -- no. 

He *doesn't* only stare, because of *course* Treville is right, despite the fact that he is aiming his sharpest blades at Jason's *most* vulnerable places -- 

Jason had never needed to *teach* Treville *how* to teach via manipulation -- 

Jason... 

Jason has only ever needed to *teach* full *stop*. 

"That you have, lover." 

Jason sighs disgustedly. "I would like to point out that *you* have any *number* of similar drives." 

"I would say my drives are more *pointedly* parental, but I'll take the comparison if *you* take --" 

"You've made your point," Jason says, and -- scowls. 

Treville laughs softly. "Which *part* is annoying you, mm? I *thought* I had smoothed the path..." 

The hell of it is, his amant honestly *believes* that.

Treville snorts. "Yes, I *do* -- what *is* it, lover?" 

"Amant. How the bloody *hell* did you reach your *forties* with such pie-eyed *optimism* about your *cock's* ability to listen to your bloody *high*-minded ideals?" 

"Jason, we're bloody *adults*!" 

"And *you* are an adult who has yet to look *deeply* within the minds and souls of *any* of your children while they were considering sex *or* sexuality --" 

"I..." 

"*Much* less while they were considering sex or sexuality involving *you*," Jason says, and *looks* at Treville... as opposed to looking at his memories of the hopeful, cheerful, and *speculative* debauch within Porthos's mind this evening as he had begun to feel Jason's spiritual *examination*. 

"Oh... fuck. I -- *Porthos* --"

"Yes, amant, *Porthos*. The *son* you are *blood-bound* to --" 

"*Fuck* --" 

"But leaving that *aside*?" 

"I... yes, lover?" 

"I would like to point out, amant, that *all* Porthos knew about me at the *time* when he was filling my mind with all of that *wonderfully* creative -- and you should be *very* proud of him -- filth? Was that I was a *witch* you were *fond* of with a cock that at least *occasionally* aimed itself toward people *shaped* like him. Now. What do *you* think that says about how all of this is going to go once we've -- somehow -- managed to make him actually *like* us as *people*?"

Treville winces in horror. 

"And, of course, there are his *brothers* to consider..." 

Treville makes a low, pained sound. 

Jason pets him. 

"I..." 

"*Yes*, amant...?" 

Treville licks his lips, whines softly, and tucks his face between Jason's throat and shoulder. And pets Jason. 

"Hm." Jason snuggles in a little. 

Treville does the same. 

They sigh, nearly as one, and continue to pet. 

Perhaps, if they keep this up *long* enough, Treville's -- 

(Our.) 

\-- sons will fall asleep, curled together in a vast, sticky, mortifyingly attractive puppy pile. 

(Now who's a pie-eyed optimist?) 

Kindly nibble the nipples of a lactating porcupine.

(Right you are.)


	10. In which there are erections, corrections, and connections.

A part of Aramis -- a part which had been growing large enough to almost *choke* him -- had been, prior to this moment, made up of little but shame for and worry *about* all the noise he has been making tonight. 

All the noise his good brothers have been *driving* him to make, urging him, and -- 

("*Come* on, love, *louder*!") 

And *coaxing* -- 

("I think your pleas could be more heartfelt than this, my Aramis...") 

His brothers seem to *thrive* on Aramis's noise, on all the helpless -- helpless *ejaculations* -- 

And Aramis is *flushed* again -- *and* blushing more than he would have ever thought *possible* for a man with *his* sexual history, but --

But. 

He is a King's Man.

He is in his Captain's house, in his Captain's study, which he is currently sharing with two of his *fellow* King's Men. 

His brothers. 

His -- lovers, who, assuming they were feeling any shame, worry, or anything else of the sort about their *own* sexual noises...

Well...

All of them are, in *this* moment, *slowly* standing straight out of the violent poses they had struck -- 

Porthos sets down the vase he was brandishing -- 

Athos takes a moment to reflexively *check* the -- older -- pistol he had somehow known would be stashed just to the other side of the massive throne he had spent much of the night leaning against before setting *it* down -- 

Aramis holds on to his knife. Just in case. And -- 

He and Porthos *look* at Athos. 

Athos licks his lips -- and looks up, at the ceiling, toward the east -- 

Toward, presumably, Treville's master suite -- 

Toward the sounds of banging, crashing, howling -- 

Very -- 

Very *loud* -- 

They are all looking, for a moment -- no. Aramis turns back to Athos. 

After a moment, so does Porthos. 

"Ah... first and foremost..." 

Aramis raises an eyebrow. Very gently. 

Porthos nods encouragingly. 

Athos coughs into his fist. "It is only... Thomas and I never managed to *stay* in our parents' bedroom for long enough that..." Athos trails off meaningfully. 

Raises his eyebrows under his fringe. 

Waits. 

Aramis licks *his* lips and nods slowly. It is... clear enough.

"So what you're saying is that you and your brother were never actually *close* when your parents and Treville were spending themselves mindless and -- presumably -- making noises like *that*," Porthos says, and points. 

Toward the howling, crashing, and -- is there a sense of the world being much darker and colder in that direction? 

Much more... eldritch? Aramis does not ask these questions of himself especially vigorously, especially since everything about everything *else* is much clearer -- 

And Athos looks somewhat wounded. 

Aramis sets his knife down and wraps an arm around Athos's shoulders. "My brother." 

"I... am well..." 

"You are not well." 

"I am not well," Athos agrees, and picks up one of the bottles they'd abandoned -- 

Porthos takes it away from him.

Aramis frowns -- "My *Porthos* --" 

"Now, now, brothers, I thought we agreed to keep our Athos a bit more sober than that," Porthos says, and *his* eyebrows are up --

"Oh. Hm. That is true," Aramis says -- 

Athos makes a small, desperate sound -- 

Something -- almost certainly a headboard -- *bangs* against a wall upstairs -- 

A very nice landscape falls to the floor across from the fireplace -- 

Porthos drinks --

Sighs -- 

Sets the bottle down. "So you were saying, Athos --" 

"*Nothing*. I was saying *nothing* --" 

"If you tell us more, we'll *definitely* be even meaner to that nice prick of yours." 

And Athos looks... stymied. 

Trapped, hopelessly, between his desire to *avoid* thinking about Treville -- and his parents? Perhaps. -- in this way, and his desire to... hm. 

"My Athos," Aramis says, and strokes Athos's still-naked chest...

And abdomen...

And then he tugs, gently, at the laces of his breeches.

Athos is, of course, the *only* one of them who had managed to get breeches back *on* -- 

But that is neither here nor there. "My Athos..." 

"I... am listening." 

Aramis smiles and tugs -- 

And tugs -- 

And tugs and tugs and -- there, open. "My Athos, have you dreamed of me slapping your --" 

"Everything," Athos says, fervently. "I've dreamed of you slapping my -- everything." 

Aramis blinks --

Considers...

"Is this disciplinary in nature?" 

Athos blinks rapidly -- and focuses perfectly. "Very rarely, truly. Your slaps -- and the vast majority of your other sexualized violence -- come with the same joyful, cheerful *abandon* that you bring to..." Athos licks his lips and frowns. "It's difficult to describe." 

"Oh, I know this one," Porthos says --

And then someone -- it may or may *not* be Treville -- howls *extremely* loudly -- 

For quite some time -- 

For... *quite* some time...

And...

"Right, well, the lung capacity alone is impressive," Porthos says. "You've got to give him that." And he nods judiciously. 

"I do not *truly* wish to ask this question," Aramis says, and frowns at himself. 

Porthos hands him the bottle. "Try it after a nip of that." 

"Why can *he* have liquor but I --" 

"Because *you're* only loose and given to harlotry when you're sober, brother. Have some water," Porthos says. 

"I'm growing to dislike you." 

Aramis drinks -- 

Porthos moves *close* -- and slips his big, wonderful hand into Athos's breeches. 

"I still --" 

"Dislike me, brother...?" 

"I --" 

"How's this, then," Porthos says, and never looks away from Athos's eyes as he does... something. 

Aramis can't quite tell if it involves Athos's cock or balls or *both*, but -- 

But Athos's nostrils are flaring, over and over -- 

His mouth falls open on a *coughed* grunt -- 

There is fresh, new sweat at his temples, along his throat -- 

"Oh, my Athos..." Aramis licks the sweat at his temple away, almost certainly only imagining that it tastes of alcohol. "Is it better?" 

Athos grunts again -- 

*Again* -- 

Porthos grins *wetly* even as the powerful muscles in his arm *flex* -- "Why don't you answer our Aramis, brother. Why don't you tell him --" 

"It's -- it's *better*, I --" Athos whines and *bucks* -- "*Please*!" 

"Are you going to play nice about the liquor?"

"Fuck -- *no*, I won't -- play *nice* --" 

Porthos snickers *hard* -- 

His arm muscles flex again and *again* -- 

Athos *shouts*, knees buckling -- 

And Porthos and Aramis catch him together, holding him up and walking him to the couch -- 

"This -- this is --" 

"It's undignified, yeah, brother, but if we get back down on that floor, I'm not getting up until I've chewed all our juices out of the rugs." 

"I." Aramis frowns. "My Porthos." 

"Yeah, love?" And Porthos arranges Athos between them on the couch -- 

Opens Athos's breeches a little more -- 

Sniffs and licks and *bites* at his own hand -- "I'm listening," he says, somewhat muffled. 

It... hm. "I believe you have answered -- and are in the *process* of answering -- my question, my Porthos." 

"Nice, that," Porthos says, or... perhaps something else. 

Aramis turns back to Athos. "You were saying about my sexualized violence?" 

"I..." Athos frowns -- 

Looks up toward the -- now-silent -- master suite -- 

Frowns more deeply -- 

Porthos slurps his way off his fingers. "They're cuddling up all cozy now. They're tied, though, so they'll be there for a bit." 

Athos blinks. 

Aramis *frowns*. "My *Porthos*." 

"Mm?" 

"Are you. Have you been..." 

Porthos turns to face him, eyes bright and curious and utterly free of anything resembling knowledge of why *Aramis* might be...

Irritated. Yes. That is the word he will use. It -- 

Porthos flares his nostrils and frowns. "Love? You're feeling prickly over there?" 

Oh. Hm. Well. 

On the *one* hand, it is a *good* thing for one's good lover to know one's *moods*. 

On the *other* hand... 

"And... hunh. Now you're feeling a bit thoughtful, maybe?" 

On the other hand, there is the fact that, thanks to Porthos's senses, Aramis is looking down the barrel of a future where he is naked to his brothers at *all* times, in *all* ways -- 

"Right, well, now you're *hot* again, and I can *work* with that, but I think you did have *something* important to --" 

"My Porthos," Aramis says, before his mind can lead him down any more primrose paths, nakedly. 

"Yeah, love?" 

Athos is looking back and forth between them with a wry and *knowing* smile on his face -- hm. 

"One moment, my Porthos." 

"Right you are," Porthos says, and drinks. 

"My Athos, what are you *thinking*?" 

Athos raises an eyebrow. "A part of me is only thinking about how *joyful* the light in your eyes can become when you are in the thick of battle. When... mm. *After* you have either run out of shot or of opportunities *to* shoot. When you are down to only your blades; your skill; your grace; and your perfect, ruthless madness." 

Porthos nods vehemently and toasts Athos -- 

Athos inclines his head -- 

Aramis licks his lips -- no. "My Athos, how often do you simply *watch* me when we are in the thick of battle?" 

"I --" 

"Don't be like that, love. You know how cheerless and *efficient* our Athos is about his killing. You've got to give him *something* nice to look at." 

Athos frowns. "Cheerless?" 

Porthos claps him on the shoulder. "We'll work on that once you're used to being sober." 

"I haven't agreed to --" 

Porthos reaches into Athos's breeches again -- 

"God -- *God* --" 

"There you are, brother," Porthos says, and keeps doing... whatever it is he's doing. It. 

Aramis licks his *lips* -- 

"Yeah, eh? But what were you going to *say*, love?" 

"I..." What could it have *been*?

"No? You don't remember?" 

"What..." Aramis frowns. 

Porthos leans in to *growl in Athos's ear* -- 

Athos moans *loudly* -- 

Porthos leans back -- "We can talk about other things, love --" 

"I!" Athos licks his lips -- 

Pants -- 

Pants *loudly* -- "I believe -- that I know what you wished to *ask* about, my Aramis." 

"Oh! Please tell me," Aramis says, and reaches over to stroke Athos's cheeks -- 

And his mouth -- 

His *exceedingly* swollen mouth... 

Athos makes a *guttural* sound. 

"We're pretty much killing him at this point, you know," Porthos says, cheerful and sweet and so -- 

Wait. 

*Wait* -- "My *Athos*." 

Athos gurgles quietly. 

Porthos snickers -- 

His hand is still *working* in Athos's *breeches* -- 

Aramis looks *up* -- and turns Athos to face him. 

"I. Am listening," Athos says, and licks his lips. 

"*What was I going to say*." 

"I believe -- please, *harder*." 

"Anything you say, brother," Porthos says, and -- 

"*Yes* -- I. I *believe*," Athos says, and his beautiful blue eyes are glassy, the pupils *blown* -- "-- that you were about to take our Porthos to task for communicating with Treville -- and Jason? -- while in the process of making love with *us*." 

"Oh -- *yes*!" 

"What? I wasn't!" 

"My *Porthos*!" 

"I mean it, love, I --" 

"*Fuck*, brother, *please do not stop what you were doing*," Athos says, fervently enough to sound far more like an order than a plea, but he *is* their unit commander.

"Oh, right you are. Here," Porthos says, turning enough to get *both* hands into Athos's breeches -- 

"Ah -- *AHN* --" 

Athos is *writhing* -- 

*Gripping* at the couch to either side of his hips -- 

Throwing his head back and -- 

"Yeah, that *is* incredibly compelling to watch, love, and I am *absolutely* willing to uh... *table* this discussion --" 

"You were speaking to your father! And Jason!" 

"I wasn't, though. I mean, for one, they were *incredibly* distracted --" 

"I --" 

"And for another? I don't know *how* to reach out for them. They've been doing all the reaching for *me*, when I've been talking to them." 

Aramis blinks -- 

And considers... was Porthos, perhaps, sensing Treville and Jason in some other way? It bears thought, and --

And then Athos gasps and shouts -- 

And shouts *again*, and Aramis needs that in his *mouth*, needs to *taste* it, *take* it -- 

He grips Athos by the hair and pulls him into a kiss, a messy and hungry and *loud* kiss, and Athos is gripping Aramis's thigh convulsively -- 

Nearly *spasmodically* -- 

His hand is *shaking* -- 

Aramis sucks Athos's tongue *precisely* like a cock he means to spend *time* with -- 

Athos *screams* into his mouth -- 

"That's bloody *gorgeous*, brothers -- c'mon, *more*," Porthos says, and Aramis can hear the slick sounds of Porthos's hands moving, the way those sounds aren't *quite* rhythmic, but *are* *brutal* -- 

Athos pants and pants and *shouts* again -- 

Grips Aramis's thigh *painfully* -- 

There are tears on Athos's *cheeks* -- 

Aramis licks them away -- no. Aramis *bites* them away, and then *keeps* biting all over Athos's face -- 

All over his mouth -- 

His throat and chest -- 

Athos *sobs* -- 

Aramis turns to *see* -- and so the first spatter of Athos's spend smacks his cheek, *only* his cheek -- 

"*Fuck*," Porthos says, and, "Aramis, do it, just -- *turn* --" 

"Yes -- *yes* --" And he opens his mouth -- 

And, for a moment, he is honestly uncertain whether the spend which spatters his lips and chin is more benediction than his brothers' -- *both* of his brothers' -- hands in his *hair* -- 

But then his brothers -- his *good* brothers -- push him down, all the way *down* -- 

And Aramis can take, and suckle, and hum, and *suckle* -- 

Athos *sobs* again, shuddering violently --

Aramis kisses *Porthos's* fist -- 

Porthos grunts and *moves* it -- 

"I -- I -- *please*," Athos says, and begins to fuck Aramis's mouth brutally, violently, *helplessly*, crying out for every thrust -- oh. 

He is no longer *spending* -- 

The sensitivity must be growing *excruciating*...

Aramis sucks *hard*, to see -- 

Athos screams like an *animal* and spurts *again*, and all Aramis can do is hum, suckle more, *take* his brother -- 

Take *all* of his brother -- while *both* of his brothers pet him. 

Gradually, Athos's thrusts slow to a steady, rhythmic *pound* as Athos moans long and low. 

*Quietly*. After a time, they slow to a stop.

Aramis strokes up Athos's chest and rests a hand over his pounding heart -- 

"Here, Athos, rest your head on my arm, like," Porthos says, and his voice is low and rumbling and gentle.

"Oh." 

"Mm?" 

Athos huffs, breathless and quietly, also. "A part of me... mm. There is some part of me which has already accepted the... reality of the three of us making love." 

"*Excellent*. Let's get the rest of you to agree with that bit." 

"Mm-hmm..." And Aramis draws a lazy infinity symbol across Athos's chest... and around his small nipples. 

"Fuck," Athos says, enunciating clearly. 

Porthos snickers. "You were saying, though? Maybe something about something you *haven't* accepted, yet?" 

Athos takes a *shivering* breath -- and tugs undeniably at Aramis's hair. 

Aramis sits up and kisses *both* of his brothers' hands, and then gently pushes Athos until he's lying back against Porthos, and is thus in a position for Aramis to lie back against *him*, tucked between his sprawled legs.

Porthos sighs happily and squeezes them both -- 

And Athos huffs more vigorously. "*This*. *This* is what I haven't accepted." 

"How's that, brother? Because if it's the rolling around naked on Daddy's furnishings thing, he really is *entirely* in favour of it." 

"I... was having such a wonderful time not thinking about that..." Aramis can hear the frown in Athos's voice. 

"Right you are. What *are* you being a fuss-arse about then?" 

"'Fuss-arse'. I. You -- brother." 

"Well, I had to distract you somehow, brother. I can't quite *reach* your tackle with Aramis sprawled all over it and such." 

"I..." 

"Surrender with honour, my Athos," Aramis says, and strokes Athos's long thighs. "Surrender... and tell us how we may *ease* you." 

"That's right, brother. Work out all those tensions. *Ease* that stick out so I can get my cock *in*." 

"You. Porthos." 

Porthos snickers. "Yeah, brother?" 

"Was I simply too drunk to *notice* how much of a pillock you are?" 

Porthos splutters *and* guffaws -- and squeezes them both, making it necessary for them to brace so that they do not fall off the couch. 

"I object to -- quite a bit of this," Athos says. 

"But not all of it, my Athos?" 

"No, not -- Porthos, are you licking -- you -- oh. Oh..." 

Aramis, in this position, cannot see *precisely* what Porthos is licking -- 

Or growling at -- into? Near?

Aramis can, however, feel *precisely* how much Athos appreciates Porthos's attentions. 

"I. Am going to be very hard again, very soon," Athos says, in the tones another man might use to say "I have, at long last, discovered incontrovertible proof that the spheres move at the whims of the mad, the drunk, the foolish, and the malevolent." 

Porthos *rumbles* and squeezes them again -- 

Aramis *wriggles* -- but. "My Athos, perhaps you will tell us what you --" 

"I do not -- the cuddling. The -- the *snuggling*. The *non*-sexual affection we have been sharing with each other -- the physicality of it." 

"Yeah, brother? What is it?" 

This time, Aramis can all but *feel* Athos frowning. "My Athos..." 

"My -- brothers," Athos says, stiffening the way he has *not* since they'd left Thierry's -- and then relaxing once more. "I... a large part of me is having difficulty with... this." 

"Brother --" 

"Or. Perhaps I mean that I am having difficulty accepting it," Athos says, quietly. "And accepting that it is real, and available to *me*, and will *continue* to be available to me even -- after --"

And that -- 

Well, they are now on the *floor* -- 

In a messy, bruising pile of tangled *limbs* -- it -- "My *Porthos*, I *agree* that it was urgent that we *press* our affections to our Athos, but --" 

"Have to. *Have* to," Porthos says, and he's growling low, *harshly*, *moving* them and *manhandling* into position by the fire -- 

Bundling the rugs *around* them -- 

And then wrapping *himself* around them in a way which strongly suggests... 

"My Porthos... would you rather be a dog in this moment?" 

"He is a dog, son," *Treville* says, choosing *this* moment to walk in -- 

Jason walks in *behind* him -- 

Treville is wearing nothing but a shirt and breeches -- 

Jason is wearing nothing but what look to be black silk *pyjamas* -- 

And they truly are moving *extremely* close to the fire, and, thus, to *their* naked *bodies* -- 

But -- Treville pauses, lifting his nose -- and then looking, unerringly, at *him*. "Son?" 

Aramis flushes. "It is nothing --" 

"While I can only guess at how uncomfortable this moment must be for you, Aramis," Jason says, "I must say that it is *rarely* the best -- or kindest -- thing to lie to a *shifter*." 

Aramis blinks. "It -- is unkind?" He looks back and forth between Jason and Treville -- who is smiling at Jason wryly. "Please tell me --" 

"In brief, son," Treville says, and reaches beneath his shirt to scratch at what looks to be -- even at the merest *glimpse* -- something far closer to *fur* than hair. "Lies smell *awful*. The bigger and more uncomfortable they are? The more they hit at the heart of *important* things?" 

"The... worse they *smell*?" 

Treville -- and Jason -- incline their heads. 

Aramis looks to Porthos -- he is frowning, but still deeply *inner*-focused. And perhaps, focused on cuddling Athos -- whom Porthos has positioned *closest* to the fire -- to within an inch of his *life*. It -- hm. "My Athos." 

"You have every last bit of the attention I can spare from being absolutely mortified, my Aramis." 

"I..." 

Treville snorts. "Son. Stop that." 

"*Sir*." 

"You heard me," Treville says, and crosses his arms over his chest. 

Athos frowns *deeply* --

Porthos makes an utterly inhuman -- and *unhappy* -- noise and -- hm. 

"My Athos..." 

"This is not at all like *any* of my fantasies of Porthos crushing me, no." 

"Because you can still *breathe*, son?" 

"Because there is an *audience*, *sir*." 

Hm. Aramis checks -- 

Jason is flaring his nostrils and humming. 

*Treville* is flaring his nostrils and raising an eyebrow. 

Porthos...

Porthos is growling. *Around* the large portion of Athos's neck he has in his teeth. 

"I am growing irritated," Athos says. 

"Then stop *lying* and take what you *want*, son." 

"I --" 

"No, wait a moment." Treville turns to Aramis. "How have you been getting him to behave up to this point, son?" 

And... there is a moment. 

The desire to be a good soldier for his Captain is at war with his desire to be loyal to his *brothers*... which is in turn at war with his desire to make everything right for, specifically, his *Porthos*. Aramis winces -- 

And Treville grunts and nods. "I see *exactly* how unfair it is to ask *you* that question," he says, and makes a cutting gesture. "I'm not your Captain here, son. It never happened." 

"I -- I --" 

"Shh," Treville says. "All is well." And then he moves to crouch beside Porthos, cupping his shoulder and -- rumbling. 

Porthos begins rumbling in turn almost immediately -- 

Athos shivers in Porthos's *arms* -- 

"Mon grand..." 

Aramis blinks -- and narrows his eyes. "I did not give you permission to use that pet name with me, Jason." 

"So you didn't... but I must confess that I have... considered using it with you for quite, quite some time." 

Aramis raises an eyebrow in an expression his good *mother* had taught him to use with men who did not -- yet -- know their *place*. 

Jason grins... delightedly. "Thank you for that." 

"I have given you *nothing* --" 

"I rather beg to differ -- but." 

"Yes?"

"Are you specifically *denying* me permission to use that pet name...?" 

The *space* Jason leaves at the end of his sentence is both telling *and* inviting and -- 

And Aramis is not, in fact, *certain* of the answer. 

Not to this question. "I have not yet decided. You wished to say something to me?" 

Jason inclines his head -- and when he looks up, the light in his eyes is, if anything, even brighter. "Many things, on many topics. But I was wondering if *you* had questions. Perhaps about all the magic being thrown about tonight...?" 

That... is an offer of potentially *great* value, as well as being a way Aramis could *begin* to test this idea of Jason being 'at their disposal'. That said... 

Aramis looks to his Porthos -- he is still clutching Athos *very* tightly, but he no longer looks as though he will panic *utterly* should Athos be taken away from him. And he is... crooning, softly. 

While Treville does the same. 

Athos, for his part, seems to be doing his best to try not to *feel* Porthos's arms around him...

Aramis frowns and turns back to Jason. "I must wait to take you up on your exceedingly tempting offer, Jason --" 

"Your brothers need you. I understand that with *every* part of myself. But..." And Jason raises an eyebrow. "I have *one* suggestion which *may* be of assistance." 

"And what is this?" 

"Mon amant spoke to me about you boys at length and in depth, as you know --" 

"Yes, and he still must speak to *us* --" 

"Oh, yes. We are *entirely* in agreement, mon grand. *But*? For the purposes of *this* moment...?" 

"Yes, *what*?" 

"What you may not have considered *fully* is that Treville had twenty-four *years* worth of stories to share about your Athos. I daresay mon amant will never and *can* never be *only* Athos's Captain, or his godfather, or his *Uncle*." 

"No, of course he cannot --" 

"I wonder, in this moment, if Athos has not been *attempting* to place Treville in one of those *convenient* little boxes -- and, of course, trying to lop off the parts of *himself* which don't fit in there, as well," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Aramis grunts -- 

Looks to Athos -- but he doesn't seem to have heard... any of that.

Aramis looks to *Jason* -- he is *summoning* shadows from the spaces around Aramis to coil around himself before they all sink *into* him at once. It -- they were different from the other shadows Aramis has seen from him tonight, more translucent and *somehow* less substantial, and Aramis can guess, very well, what Jason had used them for in *this* moment. 

Neither *one* of his brothers -- or Treville? -- was at *all* aware of that conversation, and that... is a *very* useful trick. Aramis inclines his head to Jason. It -- "I thank you."

Jason smiles and returns the gesture -- "You're quite welcome."

And Aramis crawls close to his Athos, cupping his face and kissing his tense mouth. 

"Aramis --" 

"Your Aramis. Or has that changed...?" 

Athos inhales sharply -- "Please -- don't. I won't -- I *haven't*. I will not ever turn away from you," Athos says, and his eyes are raw, wide, *naked* -- 

Aramis *knows* that there is not one person in this *room* who is not thinking of Athos's murdering *wife* -- but. 

But Aramis must be, perhaps, a little ruthless, in this moment. 

He kisses Athos again, and again -- 

Again -- and Athos's lips are trembling when he kisses Aramis back. "Please. *Please*." 

"Always, my Athos..." 

"Yes. Yes?" 

"Yes," Aramis says, and caresses Athos's cheek. "And you know our Porthos feels the same..." 

"He. He has always -- he never *lies*." 

"Never." 

"I've wanted –" Athos grits his teeth. "I have to *protect* him --" 

"We both do." 

"*Yes* --" 

Aramis leans in for a nuzzle. "We must protect him from his loneliness, too, yes?" 

"Oh -- but..." 

"He has been lonely, my Athos. As have I. There can be ease for the body -- and even the *spirit* -- in the arms of someone generous enough with *their* body to take your money, but..." Aramis smiles wryly. "We both know that *I* -- and Porthos -- know, very well, from *every* side, the difference between such things and --"

"This. I -- this is... different."

"Yes, my Athos." 

Athos blushes so hotly, so *deeply* -- 

Squirms -- 

*Stiffens* when Porthos *grips* him -- 

"Shh, my Athos, all is well --" 

"We -- we are not *alone* --" 

"We have not been *alone* all *night*, my Athos," Aramis says, and pushes closer, nuzzles Athos's mouth -- 

"I -- please." 

"I believe you know this thing -- and better than I do." 

"What...?" 

"I believe you..." Aramis licks his lips -- and Athos's, as well. "You grew up with this, my Athos. You grew up with *Treville*, in a *pack*." 

"Yes, but --" 

"Were there secrets, my Athos? Truly?" 

"Aramis, you don't *understand* --" 

"I believe I do, my brother. Because our Porthos knew *all* things about what Jason and Treville were doing without *asking* -- and without *them* *telling*. He *felt* this, or *smelled* this, or some strange, unknowable combination of sense and magic that existed in your *home* when you were a boy, and Treville was your Uncle and your godfather and your parents' lover." 

"*Yes*, but -- I was not *part* of that. I only *watched* --" 

"Did you, my Athos? Or were you a part of the conversations? The laughter? The jokes? The *intimacy* and the *camaraderie*." Aramis raises an eyebrow. 

Athos inhales sharply -- and says nothing. 

Aramis inclines his head, and brings his thumb to Athos's mouth. "I love *you*, my Athos. *You* -- and I always will. You will find me loyal in *all* ways --" 

"I *know* that -- I." Athos bares his teeth and shakes his head. 

Aramis nods. "I love *you*... but I think that you were warmer when you were Olivier." 

Athos *grunts* -- 

"I believe that the world *around* you was warmer --" 

"Stop." 

"I believe -- my Athos, I believe that you threw away... too much. When you threw away the *pain* of your past," Aramis says, quietly and honestly, only *honestly*, stroking Athos's still cheek -- 

Giving his need to those wide, *betrayed* eyes -- 

And, at the last, offering his hand, palm up. 

Athos squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth -- 

*Grinds* his teeth loudly enough to make all of them *wince* -- 

Porthos whines softly -- but Aramis knows that, in this moment, *Treville* is easing him -- as, perhaps, *Jason* is easing Treville. It is well for *him* to focus on Athos. 

To stroke and pet -- 

To press close, crushing Porthos's arms between them -- 

To kiss Athos's cheek and whisper love into his ear -- 

To have his *own* cheek *bitten* -- 

Hard enough that he must *gasp* -- but. He remains still. *Still*, because Athos is shaking, harder and harder and *harder* -- 

He breaks the bite and makes a sound like a man who has been *shot* -- 

Aramis and Porthos hold him *tighter* -- 

Athos *claws* at them and shakes *more* -- 

Porthos takes a shuddering breath -- "'s all right, brother, we're here --" 

"I -- I -- you're not -- brother, you're *back*?" 

"I never left, and I never will. Sometimes the dog in me will be doing the molesting, though." 

Athos *coughs* a laugh -- 

A *laugh* -- 

Aramis moves to lick it into his mouth, to *distract* -- 

But Athos pushes him back. "No, I -- no. I need to. To *say*..." 

Aramis nods and kisses his cheek, instead -- 

Porthos kisses his temple. "Go on, brother. Say it all." 

Athos nods as though that was an order -- "I was -- too cowardly to take my own life. After everything that happened. I couldn't do anything more than drive myself to lower and lower depths of drunkenness. I was -- I was afraid of an eternity of the stink of Thomas's *blood* --" 

"*Fuck*, brother --" 

"Oh, my *Athos* --" 

"I -- I say that only..." Athos smiles ruefully. "You must understand, my brothers... if I was too cowardly to die, then surely I had no *right* to *live*?" 

"*No* -- my Athos, you must not --"

"I -- I could do my *duty*. It was such a gift --" 

"Bloody *no* --" 

"Treville -- *Uncle*," Athos says, and turns, at last, to *face* Treville. "You gave me such a *gift* by letting me enlist. Giving me something to *do* to quiet the -- the *screams* --" 

"My *Athos* --" 

"I had to do something, *be* something -- something *else*, my brothers --" 

Porthos *snarls* -- 

But Treville *barks* a call for attention that makes every part of Aramis sit up, focus, *need*. It -- 

They *look* to him -- 

And he nods once, steady and serious and -- so dark as he stands away from them. So -- almost *grim*. "Sons. You're with me." 

"Sir." 

"Yes, sir --" 

"*Yes*, sir," Athos says, focused and sure, open and *eager* -- 

Treville nods again. "Then here we are," he says, and moves to stand over Athos -- 

Athos looks *up* -- 

Treville *grips* Athos's jaw and holds his head *still* -- 

"Yes, sir --" 

"Athos. You're working from a *hopelessly* erroneous assumption with regards to *me* -- and, thus, your own place in this world." 

Athos blinks rapidly, confusedly -- "I..." He takes a deep breath. "Please correct me, sir." 

Treville nods in obvious approval. "Think back with me, as much as you can, to *that* day." 

"Yes, sir. I -- which..." 

"I came to you, at your manor --" 

Athos winces, seems to *shrink* -- 

"Don't *flinch*," Treville says, and grips him more tightly -- 

Athos grunts and steadies himself, just like that. "Sir. I will not flinch, sir." 

"Good boy. I came to you. I found you grieving and drunk -- and utterly incapable of weeping even one more tear." 

"Yes -- yes, sir. I was -- lost. Broken. Unfit --" 

"No, that is *incorrect*, son," Treville says, and his tones are sharp -- but still warm. 

"I -- I... please. Please correct me, sir." 

"You were grieving," Treville says gently, "and you were drunk, and you were beyond tears." He raises an eyebrow. 

"I -- yes, sir." 

"Say it for me, son." 

Athos swallows. "Yes, sir. I was -- grieving. I was drunk. I was -- beyond tears," Athos says, blinking and blushing. 

Treville inclines his head. "You told me what had happened with the monster hiding within the woman you married. You told me what she had done to your brother -- excoriating *yourself* at every turn. Yes?" 

"I deserved --" 

"Shh. Yes or no, son." 

Athos shudders -- "Yes, sir." 

"I explained to you all the places where your thinking had taken left *turns* from reality. Didn't I." 

Athos squeezes his eyes shut -- 

Grits his teeth -- 

*Shakes* -- 

"*Focus*, son!" 

Athos gasps and *jerks* on his knees, eyes wide and staring for long moments -- 

"To *me*." 

"*Sir*! I -- yes, sir," Athos says, and -- focuses. 

"What did I explain to you, son." 

"That -- that I was wrong. To blame myself. That I was *incorrect* in my thinking. But --" 

"How often, over the course of our life together, have I lied to you, son." 

"N-never. Sir --" 

"How often have I been *incorrect* about matters of the heart, and matters of emotion in *general*... when held against *your* deductions on those matters," Treville says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Athos blinks -- 

Licks his lips...

"I. Never. Never, sir." 

Treville hums and strokes Athos's cheek with his thumb. "All right. Leaving that aside -- for the moment -- let's go back to that day. That afternoon with the *two* of us grieving. *Hurting*. Hollowed-out by the pain, and the rage, and the prospect of a life without Thomas's neverending *light*." 

"Yes -- *yes*, sir. And then -- then you gave me a *gift*. You -- gave me -- you let me *enlist*, even though I had shown no sign that I would be *capable* --" 

"Is that what I did, son...?"

Athos blinks again. "Sir...?" 

Treville strokes Athos's cheek again. "Every day you allowed me to train you when you were a boy." 

"I..." 

"And on rainy, awful days when, no matter what, we *couldn't* go outside -- sitting up with me for *endless* lectures in military history, strategy, tactics...?" 

"Please -- I always -- I *loved* --" 

"Mm. And what might that have meant to a man like *me*, son? A man who had lost his own *only* son... who had been given the opportunity to *raise* his *godson*. A man... well. We could never go *too* far. Could we." 

"I... I don't..." 

"You wanted to be a Musketeer from the time you could comprehend the *differences* between being a soldier, being a Musketeer, and being literally *anything* else." 

"*Yes* -- I --" 

"Did you think we didn't know that, son...?" 

Athos frowns.

Treville inclines his head. "Your father wanted a life with no limitations for you -- and Thomas. A soldier's life is, in many ways, *made* of limitations -- especially when compared to what a son of nobility *might* have --" 

"I didn't want --" 

"I know, son. I *knew*. And so did the rest of us, truly -- but Laurent suffered miserably for the choices he made, for all that he wouldn't have chosen any other way. He spent the overwhelming majority of his adult life doing everything he could to advance the Musketeers -- for us, for King, and for *country*. In *that* order -- and it meant that, whenever he -- or I, or your *mother* -- *needed* to act as a courtier? Our choices were limited, and our *enemies* were a vast, immortal Hydra -- a Hydra that grew *stronger* with every choice your father made for the benefit *of* the regiment. Laurent..." Treville shakes his head. "He was desperate to spare you boys *pain*." 

Athos frowns more *deeply*... 

And Treville smiles wryly. "*I*... was desperate to have you *here* -- or, at the very least, at the garrison. Where you bloody well belonged. Where *my* regiment *needed* you -- from the *very* beginning. And where the man in me -- the *father* in me -- longed to see you, and smell you, and *touch* you... each and every day," Treville says, and raises his eyebrows. 

Athos licks his lips -- 

And breathes -- 

And -- "I... was operating under false assumptions." 

"Yes, son." 

"You were not -- giving me a gift. You were not -- being altruistic. Not that day." 

"Not any day of my life, son," Treville says, and strokes Athos's hair with his free hand. 

"You were... I thought. I thought I had to be... the soldier. To your Captain," Athos says, and swallows hard, with an audible click which makes Aramis *need* to reach out, to hold, to *warm* -- but. 

It's not quite time for that. 

"I know that. Now," Treville says, and his smile is soft, and wry, and -- so very warm. "It's my own fault, son --"

"*No* --" 

"Shh. It's all right. I promise." 

"I --" 

"Only this, son: I remembered what a quiet boy my Olivier had been, and how shy my Olivier could be from time to time..." Treville smiles ruefully. "I thought it best, for much too long, to leave you to your own devices -- until such time as *you* felt comfortable reaching out again, mm?" 

"I. Oh," Athos says, and this -- 

All of this -- 

Athos looks like a man in the process of having one *revelation* after another, and the part of Aramis which is confused by the fact that Athos had looked just the same about their *lovemaking*... 

Aramis must catch *up*. 

And Treville flares his nostrils -- 

His gaze sweeps over all of them, including Jason -- and he nods before focusing on Athos, once more. 

"Do you see, son?" 

"I... we have both made mistakes." 

"That's right, son. Mistakes in our pasts which led to *tragedies*, and...?" 

"And. Mistakes -- mistaken *assumptions* about our loved ones, and how they felt about us, and why they chose to do the things they did, and how we should treat them, and how we should treat *with* them," Athos says, and breathes -- 

And breathes -- 

"We -- we would have been better served had we communicated more clearly, more honestly, and more *openly*. Sir." 

"Precisely, son. Which is why I want to say to you, *right* now, that I will never *force* myself on you --" 

"I know that, sir. I -- I am *entirely* aware that you have been responding to my own desires -- my own desperate *wishes*. Of *course* you could smell them -- and *feel* them. *Hear* them when I was *begging* for you *helplessly*. We shared blood *decades* ago --" 

Aramis coughs and *stares* -- "What...?"

"Oh, mon grand, we *will* explain that soon enough," *Jason* says, but -- 

But -- 

Treville *winks* at him. 

"*Sir*!" 

"I won't hide a thing from you, son. I *promise*. But...?" And Treville raises his eyebrows.

Aramis frowns. 

Tries *very* hard to tamp down his need to *know* -- 

His need to understand and touch and grip and study and *have* -- 

He could -- "My Athos, are you saying Treville can hear your *thoughts*?" 

"Yes --" 

"Can you hear *his*?" 

"Yes, but he taught us all how to *avoid* that --" 

"My *God* -- I." Aramis breathes -- 

And hears himself make a small, *needy* sound -- 

"Porthos, son, don't you think you should take your brother in hand?" 

"Honestly, Daddy, you have to admit it's bloody entertaining to see him all eager and bouncy like that." 

"Son." 

"Truly, sir," Athos says, "if we give him just a few more moments, he'll find a weapon and do something entirely --" 

"*Inspiring*," Porthos says. 

"Yes, that." 

Treville pinches the bridge of his nose. "*Sons*." 

Jason *coos* -- 

And none of them -- absolutely *none* of them -- are giving Aramis any more *information* -- 

"Right, there he goes --" 

"Oh. I didn't realize there *was* another knife back there." 

"That's our Aramis," Porthos says, proud and satisfied.

Athos nods in agreement, and this is *warming*, but -- 

"Which of us d'you suppose he's threatening?" 

"Dare we limit him, brother?" 

"Oh, true, true --"

"I -- *one* of you will *please* *tell* me --" 

"Shared *blood*, mon grand," Jason says, with yet another delighted grin. "More specifically: Shared blood with mon *amant*, which will bind you to him now and *forevermore* --" 

"But -- I thought he was an *earth*-mage," Aramis says, and frowns. 

Jason's smile grows even brighter. "He *truly* is -- and perhaps you will tell me who educated you on the differences between the families of magic...?" 

"My good mother -- there are many *spirit*-mages among her people," Aramis says, and *nothing* else whatsoever about his mother *or* her people. For all that his good brothers know all there *is* to know, he has not yet decided how much further to *share* that information. Still -- "But please tell me --"

Jason's gaze is warm and *studying* -- but he does not pause before saying, "There was blood-magic wound into the very fabric of Treville's -- and Amina's -- *being* when they were bound to each other and to Porthos. As such, they all had and have certain skills and abilities other earth-mages most assuredly do *not*, mon grand --" 

"Such as *binding*, yes, I see! And anyone he chooses to bind will be able to communicate with him -- and everyone else he has bound -- silently and from a distance?" 

"Oh, yes, mon grand -- with certain caveats." 

Porthos sighs. "I love that murdery look our Aramis gets sometimes." 

"Yes, truly. I would be shocked -- perhaps mortally so -- if anyone in this room was *not* fully aware how often such expressions figured prominently in my brighter dreams." 

And that -- Aramis blinks -- 

Jason is smiling *hopefully* -- 

Porthos is *rumbling* -- 

And Treville's smile is bright, thrilled, and just a little wondering. "You've decided to share with me, son?" 

"I've." Athos shakes his head once, reaching up to move Treville's hand from his face -- but holding it. "I've missed sharing with you, sir. I've missed *being* with you -- I've missed my Uncle. I've missed my godfather. I've missed -- I've missed *everything* you always were to me, even when I didn't know what to *do* with those things -- you always knew I *desired* you there, and you always *were* there. And. I don't know if you can ever understand how valuable that is," Athos says, and frowns. 

Treville drops into a crouch in front of Athos and brings their joined hands to his mouth for a soft kiss. "My boy. I was lonely, too, when I was young," Treville says, and smiles wryly. 

Athos blinks. "I -- find that difficult to imagine." 

Treville cocks his head to the side and grins. "Thank you, son. But... Kitos -- when he was Honoré -- was my *first* friend. My *only* friend until we were both old enough, and *mature* enough, to be friends and brothers to your father," he says, and raises an eyebrow. 

"I... knew that," Athos says, and frowns. "I had heard... all of you told us the stories, but I had somehow always failed to do the necessary maths..." 

"Shh. Don't even think about berating yourself for *that*, son." 

"But --" 

"Shh, no. I'm only telling you this so that you can understand a little more about *why* it was... hm. Just a *little* bit necessary to my existence -- even beyond my love and joy and need for and in and *of* you -- to *be* there for you and your brother," he says, and raises an eyebrow again. 

"You -- you saw yourself. In us." 

Treville inclines his head. 

"I am." Athos swallows -- 

And shivers -- 

And tugs their joined hands back to *his* mouth for a kiss. "Please, sir. Please don't ever let me hold you apart again." 

"Even when you need me to, son?" 

"I will not. That --" Athos bares his teeth. "That was never who I was, and that is not who I *am*, sir." 

"Son --" 

Athos stands, and tugs Treville up *with* him -- 

Aramis and Porthos stand, as well -- 

"That was my fear, sir," Athos says, quiet and *firm*. "That was -- all of my *fears*. I will not let them speak for me. Not anymore." 

Treville rumbles and rumbles and pulls Athos in for a hug, tight and close -- 

So warm -- 

And Aramis is only a little bit impatient. Only... 

Slightly...

Porthos laughs and hugs *him* from the back, squeezing him and nuzzling his ear. 

"My Porthos --" 

"You want Daddy to bite you, yeah? I mean, we *all* should've known you'd be *past* ready for the *connections* --"

"Bite -- he cannot simply cut me and lick?" 

"You'd prefer it that way? I mean, he *can*, yeah, but --" 

"Is the bite better? Faster?" 

"Both are *equally* fast," Jason says, from where he is leaning against Treville's throne. "The bite is merely more intimate -- and thus *preferred* by any number of shifters." 

"Oh." 

"Including, as an example, the one currently wrapped *around* you."

Aramis blinks -- "My Porthos..." 

"I could bite you, yeah. If you *want* --" 

"Bite me!" 

"Are you --" 

"My Porthos." 

"Right you are," Porthos says, and laughs hard. "*Where* am I --" 

Treville clears his throat -- from over by the bookshelf closest to the fireplace, where he's pulling a blade from between two large and relatively dusty tomes. He cleans it off on his shirt -- 

"Oh -- what *is* it, sir?" 

Treville grins at him -- and moves back up beside Athos, who has joined Jason. "You will not be connected to *all* of us if Porthos -- or I -- bite you." 

Aramis blinks -- 

And Jason growls. It. 

It seems as though his growl comes from all parts of the room that are *not* his own body -- 

It seems that his growl chokes off all the light -- and much of the *air* -- in the *room* -- 

"Not to worry, all," Porthos says, and squeezes Aramis gently. "Jason's just cursed, and all." 

Jason glares -- "*Porthos* --" 

"Did he say anything *wrong*, lover?" 

"*No*, but --" 

"No, he did not. So shut it," Treville says, and turns back to the three of them. "Jason's cursed in numerous ways, none of which the *All-Mother* particularly objects to -- save for the fact that he's unable to produce *children* who would be -- and I am *quoting* -- as loving, welcoming, intelligent, open, brave, generous, and *beautiful*, in all ways, as *he* is." And Treville raises an eyebrow at them. 

Aramis looks to Jason...

He is staring *incredulously* at Treville, with a quirked smile teasing at his mouth. 

*Treville* turns to look at Jason -- "Did you have something to say to that, lover?" 

"At what point are you going to *stop* showing me off?" 

"I'll get back to you in a century or six. Now --" 

"Wait, what?" And Porthos is standing straight again -- 

"Yes, sir, what precisely are you saying?" 

Aramis... believes he *knows*. "My brothers... I believe Jason has *shared* his immortality with Treville." 

Treville and Jason incline their heads together -- and then Jason smiles wryly. "It was not an ability I had available to me *until* Treville saved my life all those months ago," he says, and then turns to Treville. "It took mon amant seemingly merely *seconds* -- and, in reality, little more than an hour -- to make me ache with *gratitude* that I had it *then*." 

Treville reaches up to caress Jason's face with his free hand. "Forever, lover," he says -- and spins the blade he's holding in his other hand. "And that... is *one* of the things you boys need to think about. Because Athos and Porthos are already connected to *me* and to each *other* -- and always will be -- and you, Aramis, can and *will* be connected to all three of us just as soon as Porthos bites you. But --" 

"I -- *we* -- will not be connected to Jason," Aramis says -- 

"Nor *should* you be," Jason says. "Mon amant is being manipulative, Aramis. We *both* are. I daresay *neither* of us can *help* it at this late date --" 

"*Jason* --" 

"*Wait*, Treville," Jason says, and stands, and -- gestures sweepingly, somehow -- 

It -- 

Aramis *flinches* *helplessly* -- 

*All* of them do *except* for Treville -- 

Aramis does not know -- 

There is nothing *wrong*; there is no *threat*; there is nothing -- nothing moving to *destroy* -- 

Why are they all still *flinching* -- 

But Porthos snarls and does -- something --

Aramis does not *know* what he does, only that the room around them, the *world* around them, suddenly smells green, fresh, *lush* -- 

Aramis can *breathe* -- 

Athos is panting *beside* him -- 

Treville is *laughing* *uproariously* -- 

And Jason... is... hm. Aramis walks over to the man-sized *seed* pod which is leaning against Treville's throne *precisely* where Jason *had* been -- 

Treville is *coughing* laughter -- "I -- oh, son, son, I wouldn't touch that if I were you --" 

"Why is this?" 

"Because Jason will, I -- mm. I --" Treville gives himself a shake and turns to Porthos -- 

Who seems somewhat stunned and *aggrieved* -- 

"Excellent work, son. We'll talk about your technique when we all go commune with the All-Mother." 

"Uhh..." 

"Now to business," Treville says, and turns back to Aramis. "Jason is, at present, being *thoroughly* dressed down by the All-Mother for his attempt to frighten you all away from him instead of building a pack like he's *supposed* to do." 

"He..." Athos frowns. "What *was* that? What did he do to us?" 

Treville wags his head for a moment. "The easiest way to describe it --" 

"He sodding smacked us with his sodding *aura*," Porthos says. "And then? He sodding *smothered* us with it." 

Treville opens his mouth -- 

Closes it -- 

"Listen to your brother, sons; he has the right of it." 

Athos frowns more deeply and turns to Porthos. "All right, then what did *you* do?"

Porthos shrugs. "Stopped him." 

Athos's expression is *pinched* -- but Aramis suspects his own is no better. Still. 

"He did this because he does not *wish* for us to share with him? To be his... pack?" 

Treville raises the hand which isn't holding a *knife* -- 

And then the seed pod blackens, *withers*, *howls* -- and ribbons away in translucent streams until nothing is left but a blushing, *flushed*, and thoroughly *mussed* Jason. 

Who clears his throat. 

And licks his lips -- "I. Apologize. To all of you." 

"For which, eh?" 

"For being a pillock, Porthos. At all times. In all ways. Though -- especially, in this moment, I apologize for committing an act of magical *assault* in an attempt to chase you all *away* from me, when that is, in point of fact, the very *last* thing I wish to do with all of you." 

Athos raises an eyebrow. 

Aramis raises one of his own. 

Porthos raises two. 

Jason smiles wryly. "I have been alone... no. I do not wish to begin that way with all of you. Say this, instead: I am learning, anew -- with Treville and, hopefully, with all of you -- how to be a man with companions. I would like to learn to be a man with a pack. I have my *doubts* that I can manage this without making an utter *arse* of myself several *more* times, but I wish." He swallows, then, and his red-brown eyes are wide, and full, and bright. "I wish to be given the chance to do so, just the same." 

Porthos nods, just like that, and moves *close* -- 

Treville stops him. 

"What --"

"Share blood first, son. Jason can't touch *anyone* -- but *especially* not earth-mages -- without driving them away in *many* of the same ways he already *showed* you --" 

"Unless he shares the curses in his blood first, right, got it, Daddy." 

Treville nods and smacks the hilt of his blade down into Porthos's palm, and -- 

And there is a part -- a large and *vehement* part! -- of Aramis which wants to object to this, which wants to tell his Porthos to stop, to wait, to be cautious and, at the *very* least, pay attention to *him*. But... 

That part is being *garrotted* by the part which is flipping his *own* blade between his hands -- 

By the part which has been reaching for the secrets of Jason's *soul* since they were outside of Thierry's -- 

By the part which has been *scrabbling* for the *wealth* of Jason's *education* -- 

And, of course, by the part which is, in this moment, looking to his Athos -- and sharing *this* smile. 

The smile of 'yes, Porthos is *exactly* who he is, and we would be broken and *lost* were he ever to change.' 

The smile of 'yes, of *course* the three of us will follow each other down every dark alley, into *every* disreputable dive, off every crumbling *cliff* -- so long as we can do it *together*.' 

And when Aramis checks -- 

Jason is watching him and Athos with wonder, pleasure, *warm* desire -- and something Aramis cannot call anything but love. 

Aramis shivers. *That* is something which must still be considered, and weighed, and *examined* -- but. 

The time has passed, perhaps, for pretending that he does not wish to begin that examination as soon as possible. 

And Jason turns that look on Porthos, smiling into his eyes -- and then smiling ruefully. "You're going to *loathe* this, I fear --" 

"He'll barely notice a thing, because *I'll* be holding his lead, lover," Treville says. 

Jason blinks. "That... that truly is *possible*..." 

"That it is, lover. In fact," Treville says, and turns to Aramis. "Porthos will bite you before Jason binds you, son. That will let me hold *your* lead." 

"And -- protect me?" 

"That's right." 

Aramis frowns. Deeply. 

Porthos snorts *hard* -- 

And Athos huffs repeatedly.

"All right, boys. *What* are we missing?" 

His brothers *look* at him for this, and, well -- 

Well. This is perfectly reasonable. "My Treville --" 

"Do that *all* the time, please, but go on."

Aramis smiles just *so*. "My Treville is correct that my Porthos will bite me *first*... but. There will be no *holding* of *leads*. Not with me." 

"And why is that, mm?" Treville cocks his head to the side even as Jason *grips* Porthos's slashed forearm and darts in to *drink* -- 

Porthos never stiffens, though. He -- Treville's hand is locked firmly around his nape.

Treville's eyes are *hot* -- and warm, as well. "Tell me, son." 

Aramis shivers. "I wish to *feel* our Jason, my Treville. I wish to study him, and learn him, and *know* him, so that I may *make* him a part of all of us as quickly as *possible*. There must be no hesitations. There must be no *misunderstandings* or *confusion*. There must be --" 

"Did you think, mon grand," Jason says, "that I would hide anything at all from any of you?" 

"I --" Aramis looks --

But Porthos is pulling Aramis back against him and *yanking* his head to the side -- 

Growling and biting *right* at the join of throat to *shoulder* -- 

"Oh -- *oh*, my *Porthos* -- your *teeth* --" 

"His spirit-dog hasn't *quite* fully merged with him, boys, but that *extremely* large expenditure of magic he just did sped things along. I'm afraid you're going to have to do without him at the garrison for the next little while until I've got him thoroughly trained on how *not* to shift when he doesn't *want* to." 

"I -- I --" But Aramis has no thought, no speech -- 

Porthos's mouth is so *hot* -- 

Porthos's tongue is so slick, so fast, so *mobile* on the *wound* -- 

Porthos is *suckling* even as he strokes Aramis, squeezes, *caresses* -- 

Aramis moans and goes *loose* -- 

And Porthos *rumbles* into his throat and nods, sucking and lapping and lapping until Aramis can feel the wounds *close*, until Aramis can feel -- 

(Me, love,) Porthos says, and *enfolds* Aramis, inside and out, so warm, so *warm* --

OH -- my Porthos, my Porthos, I -- I must -- 

(Here, like this,) Porthos says, and seems to take Aramis's *spirit* in hand -- 

Seems to lift and *tug* Aramis's spirit -- 

(I'm just helping you reach, is all...) 

Reach -- where? 

(Here, son,) *Treville* says, and *caresses* Aramis's spirit, and Aramis can feel seemingly all of Treville at *once*. All of his desire, all of his care -- no. His *love*, because like this, in *this* space, there is no way to deny it, no way to hold himself firm *against* it -- 

He can only *feel* -- 

(I *will* teach you how to hold me at bay --) 

You will *not*!

(Whenever you *want* me to, son,) Treville says, and the humor in him is just another fire, another passion, another -- 

There is so *much* -- 

(Look here, love...) 

What -- what? Oh -- you must show me my Athos!

(Here, my Aramis. And I... perhaps it is entirely in character that I did not realize until this very moment how desperately I needed to feel *this* touch from you,) Athos says, and his touch is a stroke, a caress, a swallow, a *grip* -- 

*Oh* -- 

(Maybe a little less convulsive, brother?) 

(Hmm. I'll consider it,) Athos says, and there is laughter, bright and unfamiliar and thrilled, warm, *pleased* -- 

And Aramis realizes, as he blinks himself back *to* himself, that it was Athos's. It -- 

"My laughter for -- friendship," Athos says. "It's always been so *bright*." And he takes Treville's blade and moves to Jason, who is studying Athos deeply, *avidly* -- 

"Brighter than brotherhood, Athos?" 

"Bright -- in entirely different ways," Athos says, slashing himself -- 

Treville cups the back of his neck -- 

"I might have decided to be as mad about things as Aramis --" 

"It's your birthday, son. I get to protect your sanity for at *least* the next eighteen and a half hours or so." 

Athos *snorts* -- 

And Jason grins and *drinks*. 

The process goes quickly, but Aramis is still impatient, still forcing himself not to slash himself *early*, or poise on the balls of his *feet*. 

There is *knowledge* here, and connection, and -- 

And something, perhaps, that is ultimately indefinable. Something Aramis has not had since he was a boy in his good mother's arms at Madame Margaud's, curled in the dark on a warm soft bed, redolent of musk and good perfume and buoyed by whispered lessons of *their* language. 

Their secrets, their *intimacy*. 

They had, truly, been all they *had*, for all that they were not quite at *war* with the world. 

Whores fight different *battles*, in different *ways* -- 

Aramis had needed so *much* -- and, with his good mother, he had had what *seemed* to be all of it. 

He has -- and he knows himself well for this -- been seeking something *like* it ever since he'd learned, with the knowledge of his good mother's death while he was trapped in the seminary his father had *shoved* him in, that he could never have that bond *back*.

He has been *seeking*, so very *much* -- 

And there is, within him, a growing, rising, and *demanding* choir which *sings* that he has found it. 

And so he does not wait once Porthos kisses his cheek -- 

Once Athos steps away from Jason and smiles at him -- 

Once Treville steps back *twice* so very *pointedly*. 

He moves *close* to Jason, to the thrum of power which, surely, *anyone* must feel -- and he slashes his arm. 

Jason laughs softly. "Mon grand, I must confess that a part of me wishes only to ask if you are *certain* --" 

Aramis hisses between his *teeth* -- 

"But only, I *promise*, to see if I can get *that* noise out of you." 

"I -- you --" 

"This," Jason says, and his speed is phenomenal when he takes Aramis's arm in his hands, when he *grips* -- 

And Aramis is shaking all over again, *flinching* despite himself -- he must *endure* -- 

He must *study* every sensation, every -- 

Every shudder of it, every *crawl* -- 

He must *comprehend* what it must have been *like* to know that every person you touched would feel like *this*, would writhe and *fight* to *escape* -- 

Aramis meets Jason's eyes -- 

He doesn't know when Jason had lowered his head to the wound -- 

He doesn't know when Jason had begun to *lap* -- 

He doesn't know when he had begun to make that -- that *sound* -- but. Aramis *snarls* at himself and *slaps* a hand down over Jason's own, forces himself to grip, forces himself to *hold* -- 

Jason *growls* and *bucks* -- and the sensations begin to change, slowly and -- 

So *slowly*, but the intolerable heat becomes warmth coursing *through* Aramis, and the crawling becomes gooseflesh, shivers -- 

And the slide of Jason's tongue -- 

And the strength of his *hands* -- 

And Aramis is panting, thickening and *rising* for this -- 

He tries to grip Jason's hand more firmly and winds up *clawing* at it -- 

"*Fuck*," Jason slurs against Aramis's blood-slick skin -- the wound is closed. "I -- I -- *fuck*." And Jason drops to his knees, licking and lapping at Aramis's arm until it is clean -- 

At which point shadows *converge* on Jason from all corners of the room, covering him -- 

"*Oi* --" 

\-- but only for a moment before they leave Jason utterly naked -- and with a slick and faintly-twitching cock that is... softening. *Not* soft.

"Oh, well that's all right, then," Porthos says. 

Aramis licks his *lips* -- 

Athos raises an eyebrow. 

"Say, though, mate," Porthos says, and helps Jason to his feet. "Did that actually make you *spend*?" 

"I..." And Jason blinks several times and licks his lips. 

"It truly did, boys," Treville says, grinning broadly and *exceedingly* doggishly as he flares his nostrils over and over again. He turns to Aramis -- "Nicely done, son." 

"I thank you! *What* did I do?" 

Jason leans, once more, against Treville's throne. "You fought through your natural *revulsion* at my touch to reach for me -- the *heart* of me. And then you *continued* to do it. And then you got *hard* for it," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. 

"I. Ah... hm." 

"Told you," Treville says, and grins *obnoxiously*.


	11. A terrifying truth will always be better -- greater -- than a reassuring lie.

Jason uses the shadows to dress himself in another set of black silk pyjamas -- immortality will let you build up a nest egg if nothing else will, Porthos guesses -- then pulls more incredibly delicious -- and *somehow* cooked -- meat for them out of... somewhere. 

Porthos and his brothers get their breeches back on -- for whatever *that* will turn out to be worth -- 

"Take a walk with me, son?" Treville's voice is soft, and low, and he's focused on Porthos. Just him. 

And that...

Well, they do have a bit to talk about, don't they. Still, Porthos *needs* to check on his brothers -- 

Jason has absolutely gathered them to himself for some stories about, by the sound of it, the not-very-nice-or-good-or-anything-but-bloody-horrible old days. 

Right, good enough. Porthos nods, and gestures for Treville to lead the way. 

Treville hums and nods right back, and leads Porthos to the kitchen with him -- not even trying to be subtle about giving him the bloody *tour* along the way -- and they retrieve two *big* trays of food Treville's staff had done up fuck only knows when that are, in fact, mostly meat. 

Still, there's some excellent-looking bread on there, too, and a few lonely-looking fruits and vegetables that were *obviously* added in deference to *them*. 

Or -- well.

Probably for Aramis and Athos, considering what Treville's staff almost certainly already *knows* about him. 

Treville rumbles for that -- "That's right, son." 

Porthos shivers and doesn't think about -- no. 

No.

He stops, right there in the hall leading from the kitchen to what his *nose* is telling him is, on the whole, a pretty damned *clean* alley -- but still an alley -- 

He stops, and he breathes.

"Son... what do you need," Treville says. Says, *not* asks, because of course he *knows* Porthos needs something -- 

And probably has a better idea than Porthos does of *what*. 

"Oh, son -- not that," Treville says, and sets his tray down on the -- not-at-all surprisingly, considering who Treville bloody *is* -- sturdy, well-made, and *attractive* cabinet to the side of the hall which, again judging by the scents, is there for anything and everything Treville's kitchen staff might need as they wander to and from the kitchens. 

There are what are probably serving dishes in there, linens, extra utensils and such -- as well as what smells like extra clothing and maybe even a few shoes for the staff, off to the side. Maybe in case of accidents?

Of bloody *course* Treville wouldn't *mind* anything like that, and -- 

And Porthos *truly* is standing here, tray in hand, sniffing a *cabinet* so he can avoid talking to -- *looking* at -- Treville for as long as possible. 

Treville laughs softly and ruefully -- from a very, very polite little distance away from him. *Right*. 

Porthos sets the tray *down* -- 

Turns to *face* Treville -- 

And -- 

And...

And *winces*, because he has no bloody idea how to say, to his *Captain*, that the idea of trying to have a *father*, an *actual* father whom he has to *think* of that way -- 

*That* way, all *serious*-like, in more than those call-him-Daddy to joke around and flirt and brass him *off* -- 

*That bloody way*, at this late date -- well. It has him quaking in his *boots*. 

"Well, if it helps, son --" 

"I um. I truly did just say it *inside*. Didn't I." 

"That you did --" 

"I -- I'm sorry --" 

"Shh." 

"No, I --" 

Treville raises a hand, takes *one* step closer, and smiles again. "I promise it's all right, son." 

"It *isn't*. You -- I can feel how much you *need* me --" 

"I need you *here*, with me. Where are you?" 

"I..." 

"I need you *close* to me -- and willing to share, with me, the deepest secrets of your beautiful heart. What are you doing?" 

Porthos -- takes a breath. 

Treville nods. "I need you to *stay* with me -- and to share your scents of love and warmth and home and *happiness* -- and everything *else* -- with me. Just what *are* your plans on that score, mm?" 

"Oh -- I'm *staying*. I mean -- I *said* --" 

"That you *did*, son. And haven't you already given me -- *shared* with me -- your best *possible* scents?" 

Porthos licks his lips and -- but. "I know, Daddy." 

"Yes, you --" 

"I know you need more." 

And Treville -- looks away, shadows hiding his expression for long moments. 

"You have to let me --" 

"I will not let you apologize, son," Treville says, slowly and evenly and *clearly* -- and then he turns back to meet Porthos's gaze, expression *set* and almost -- grim. 

Porthos frowns. "Sir...?" 

Treville's expression cracks for a small, brief smile. "I imagine I did just earn that 'sir', but --" 

"Oh -- I --" 

"Shh, son. I don't have any grand, noble *altruistic* reasons for not taking your apology. When it comes to you..." Treville shakes his head and bares his teeth just a little. "I'm not even as capable of being altruistic as I am with *Athos*, son. Do you understand?" 

Porthos frowns -- 

And Treville nods. "You don't, yet. That's fine, son; let me fix that *right* now: We're *bound*, blood to blood and soul to *soul*. We have *been* bound since the night your mother and I knelt, naked as babes, in that Circle and lapped up each other's fluids -- *all* of each other's fluids -- while her guardians did the workings of a *lifetime*," Treville says, and -- raises an eyebrow. 

A part of Porthos is thinking. It *is*. It's thinking, and putting the pieces together, and even coming to bloody -- literally bloody -- *conclusions*. 

It's just that the rest is starting to pant, and sweat, and -- fuck, fuck -- 

*Fuck* -- "We're -- bound." 

"Yes, son." 

"We're -- I know what that bloody *means*, sir!" 

Treville winces -- and nods. "I know you do, son. I know... well. No one as well-trained as you are -- no one as well-trained by a *death*-mage -- would *not* know," he says, and just -- stands there. 

*Looks* at Porthos -- 

Waits for him. 

Waits for Porthos to really *think* about *everything* it means that they're bound. Everything they *are* to each other. 

Everything they *have* to be to each other. 

Everything they need from each other, will *always* need from each other, will always *crave* from each other, no matter bloody *what* -- and. 

And Treville is just -- right there. 

Still that *polite* distance away -- minus one step. 

Still *waiting* -- and knowing *exactly* what conclusions Porthos *has* to come to. 

Porthos nods. "You know -- you know it all has to go one way." 

Treville smiles ruefully and cocks his head to the side. "I *know*... that between the two of us, with time, we can make the inevitable far better, far easier, far *warmer* than, perhaps, it has any right to be." 

"That's *shite*." 

"Son --" 

"*Daddy*," Porthos says and closes the distance between them. Just -- just *that*. 

And Treville flares his nostrils -- 

And Porthos flares his *own* -- and *tastes* Treville's need, need for *him*, worry, hunger, tension -- Porthos growls. 

"Son..."

"We both know how I felt about you *before* all this, Daddy," Porthos says, keeping his voice -- good and even. 

Treville closes his eyes -- just for a moment. When he opens them, his gaze is both rueful and pleading. "I didn't fantasize about you, son. Not sexually. Not until *tonight*." 

Porthos blinks -- "You -- no?"

"No. I didn't have those sorts of thoughts about the son I'd lost so many years ago, and I didn't have them about the son I *wanted* in *you*. Until it was utterly impossible *not* to have them, tonight, with you in my office..." Treville flares his nostrils. "You'd never been so open. So *free*. So... big." 

"I. Um. I mean -- I mean I'm not actually *sure* why I'm surprised..." He frowns. 

"It's confusing because all the baffles are off of your power -- which is the *twin* to my own. It's confusing because all of the *walls* are down *between* us." 

"I --" 

"If they had *always* been down? Or even if there had been... mm. A bit of *crumbling*...?" 

"You would've wanted me. You would've..." 

"I wouldn't have been able to help it, son. You're in my *blood*. You *are* my blood. But -- that's not the most important thing." 

"It *isn't*?" 

"No. Because I *did* dream of you, son. I dreamed of you, wished for you, *ached* for you..." Treville smiles ruefully. "You already *had* a suite here, you know." 

Porthos blinks -- but. "You mean -- for your missing *son*." 

"Oh, yes. But there was a *second* one for *you*. For Porthos du *Vallon*, who walked into my life fourteen months ago, and filled my heart with love and life -- and so much happiness. So much *joy*, son," Treville says, and smiles at him. "Of course I wanted you to be mine. Jason came to me tonight and *had* been planning to *rescue* me from my *paperwork*. And then? *You* came." 

"Oh -- I. I just wanted -- you know what I wanted --" 

"That I do. But what *I* wanted when I heard *your* footsteps on the stairs? When I *scented* *you* on the air...?" 

Porthos frowns. "Daddy...?" 

Treville nods. "I wanted you to meet my love. I wanted you to *see* Jason -- and for Jason to see *you*. I wanted the two of you to *speak*, even if only *briefly*, so that I could have the two parts of my life -- of my *heart* -- together, at last." 

Porthos takes a breath, but -- "Jason -- he said. He said you'd talked to him about us." 

"All the time, son. *All* the time. What wonderful *soldiers* you were, of course -- but also all the *ridiculous* and *maddening* and just plain *mad* shite the three of you got *up* to whether or *not* you knew I was paying attention," Treville says, and laughs quietly. "Oh, son, I... I dreamed of you. And, in my heart, I had long since brought you *home* with me." 

"With -- with Athos and Aramis." 

"That's right." 

Porthos thinks about it... "They *absolutely* have suites here, too." 

"Of course. Athos's is more... official, shall we say? He's stayed here precisely *once* over the years -- we've mostly visited each other at our respective manor houses -- but still." 

"He's your godson, yeah. And Aramis?" 

Treville's smile is warm and downright *merry*. "I'm thinking of changing it. After tonight, I mean." 

"Oh -- yeah?" 

"Mm. Our Aramis needs... a *trifle* more accommodation for his weaponry. Now doesn't he." 

Porthos coughs a laugh. "I uh. You should really take a *look* at the walls -- and cabinets, and cubbies, and hidden bloody *compartments* -- of his flat sometime, Daddy. It only *seems* like he spends all his money on perfume and whores." 

Treville sighs happily. "I knew I loved that boy." 

Porthos snorts -- and jerks his chin at him. "You're saying you were pinning your cock back before, with us." 

"Pinning it back, nailing it between my arsecheeks, and sealing up the whole operation with a nice, thick pitch --" 

"Right, well, I'm never going to be able to fuck anyone again. Ever. But go on." 

Treville winks at him. "I needed you boys, and I was... building a family with you in my dreams. A *pack*." 

"But *not* tossing yourself off?" 

Treville wags his head a little.

Porthos raises his eyebrows *high* -- 

And Treville hums. "Athos -- with his *scents* -- was a part of my life from nearly the day he was *conceived*, son. What do you *think* that means for a man with my predilections?" 

Porthos *blinks* -- but. "Uh. You never actually *mentioned* that you fucked *boys*, Daddy." 

Treville blinks at *him* -- and gives himself a *shake* before preparing to tick off points on his fingers. "One: Absolutely everyone I've ever loved knew this about me, *including* your mother --" 

"*Fuck*, I -- *really*?" 

"From *before* the night we met, son, and I'll tell you more *whenever* you'd like. Two: I've grown so accustomed to being known in this way by the people I've loved that I came to take it for granted --" 

"Right, but -- no, go on, tell me -- you *have* to know what *I* need to know, Daddy," Porthos says, and he *knows* he's bloody pleading, but he can't actually *stop* himself. He can't -- his childhood is creeping up behind him. 

Stalking *both* of them in ways which do and *don't* have anything to *do* with how *Porthos* relates to the boys and girls in *those* brothels, and -- 

And he's staring. 

He -- 

Treville lifts his nose -- and growls. "My son... you spent a lot of time suffering for *other* people's miseries and perversions. Didn't you." 

"Yeah, I *did*, and --" 

"Three: Never too young to enjoy themselves at *least* as much as I was. Four: Never too young to be able to *choose* my company for an evening -- or a dalliance. Five: Never too *shy* to tell me what they did -- and did *not* -- want --" 

"Even if that meant changing streams right in the middle, Daddy?" 

"Son, that tended to be the *first* thing I made clear in my negotiations -- assuming the boy himself didn't do just that," Treville says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Porthos -- takes a breath. 

Nods in *relief* -- 

And then immediately *stops* breathing, because -- 

"Son? What is it?" 

"'m. I'm just like you. I mean -- that's what -- you bloody *said* I would've fit right in with your old pack --" 

"*Yes*, son --" 

"And we bloody well share *several* bloody types --" 

"I --" 

"And I can't even *imagine* not living my life *exactly* the way *you* do!" 

Treville -- winces. 

Porthos shudders and nods. "We -- we're bound." 

"We are, son. And you're right that it's... changed us -- *both* of us -- in some ways --" 

"Oh -- both?" 

Treville inclines his head. "Every *especially* doggish trait you have, son...?" 

"Right, got it, but --" 

"*But*, son, *still*. You're your own man. *Specifically*, you're the man who was raised by my Amina-love in *very* specific ways until she was murdered. You're the man who remembered every last lesson, every last story, every last *edict* -- and raised them to the status of holy *writ* -- so you could keep your mother *with* you for just a little bit longer --" 

"*Fuck* -- but. You can tell." 

"I can all but *taste* her in everything you do and say and *think*, son -- and in *how* you go about all those things." 

Porthos shivers. "And you're saying... that has as much to do with how *alike* we are -- but wait --" 

Treville smiles wryly. "She told me more than once that she'd raise *any* son she had to be *just* like me. And she got detailed about it, too..." 

"Shit -- she. She *said* that..." 

Treville flares his nostrils. "Tell me. Please." 

"Just -- I *asked* her one day. What I should do when I was grown. Who I should *be*," Porthos says, and smiles ruefully. "She was... she was getting sick by then. I mean, I know now that she'd been sick from the beginning, but -- you could see it." 

Treville bares his teeth -- but only for a moment before he nods. 

"Anyway, she stood up slowly from the cookpot -- I could see she was in a little pain -- and she got this... this *faraway* look in her eyes. I *started* to ask her what she was thinking, who she was *looking* at -- but she came back to our draughty little kitchen just that quick. 

"She crouched down, and she cupped my face, and she smiled her *serious* smile, and she said 'sweet *boy*, if I have *my* way? You will grow to be bold and brave and strong and wise and funny and *free*. *Just* like your true father.'" 

Treville inhales sharply and *whines* -- 

And Porthos nods. "Of course I asked a million questions -- for *days*. *Weeks*. She distracted me every time. *Right* up until the end, when she was sharing her magic -- *pouring* her magic into me. You saw that." 

"That I did, son. I --" Treville growls and shakes his head *once*. "My son. Do you see?" 

"You think... you think it's *not* the binding on our souls." 

"I do." 

"You think I would've been -- *we* would've been -- like this even if we *weren't* bound... so long as I was still raised the same *ways*." 

Treville nods, steady and sure and -- honest. 

Porthos can smell that. 

Porthos can *feel* that -- and it's *exactly* as calming, as *settling*, as it should be. 

And maybe a bit more than that, too. It -- "You're always going to be able to -- calm me down." 

"You can do the same with me, son." 

"I -- *we're* always going to be able to... no, I won't dance around this," Porthos says, and -- lets himself. He reaches up to cup Treville's face with both hands -- 

To *feel* that nearly-soft-as-fur beard -- and the *wild* thrill of his skin against Porthos's fingertips. The sense that something is happening that *should* happen, that's *needed* to happen, that *Porthos* has needed to happen for so bloody *long* -- 

It feels like his own eyes are wide as *saucers* as he stares into Treville's *hungry* ones. It -- "Daddy..." 

"You're not alone, son. That's all. That's all you ever need to think about *any* of this," Treville says, and turns enough to *lick* Porthos's hilt-calluses -- 

Porthos *grunts* -- 

"You're not alone, son. You will not ever *be* alone -- from now until the All-Mother gets *sick* of us -- even if you put your *back* into it."

"I --" 

"That time is done," Treville says. "I promise you that *that* will always be the most *important* thing that this -- all of this -- means." 

Porthos licks his lips and -- nods. "You'd say that even if we made love." 

"I *will* say that *when* we make love, son -- whenever the bond between us drives us to do so. The physical just isn't as *important* as --" 

Porthos kisses Treville -- and he bloody well makes it a good one, sucking and nuzzling at Treville's mouth until he *pants* into *Porthos's* mouth -- 

Licking *in* and teasing and *coaxing* -- 

And, just like that, just that *fast*, Treville's big and *shockingly* powerful hand is in Porthos's hair -- 

Treville's *other* hand is in Porthos's *beard* -- and he's *forcing* Porthos's head into *position*, into the position *he* wants, into -- 

And the tongue in his mouth is hungry, seeking -- 

And the kiss itself is less violent than filthy, full of bites and growls and *soft* whines -- 

Full of *soft* suckles at Porthos's lips, and Porthos is nodding for it, going *loose* for it, suckling and licking at that tongue and trying *hard* to remember what *exactly* he was trying to say -- 

He knows there was *something* -- 

And then Treville licks *out* of Porthos's mouth -- 

"Mm -- wait --" 

Bites Porthos's *throat* -- 

"*Fuck* -- yeah --" 

And pushes Porthos *back*, panting and staring and, when Porthos looks *down*, hard enough to make those ever-so-tightly-laced breeches look *damned* uncomfortable. 

It. 

"I already know you're just as hard in your own, son," Treville says, and *pants* more -- 

His eyes are *glinting* in the gloom of the hall -- 

His *teeth* are showing just a little -- and he gives himself a shake. 

"We're uh. We're never alone." 

"That's right. And right now? We can *both* feel that you're not ready for this." 

Porthos frowns. "Daddy --" 

Treville holds up a hand. "I knew before our lips ever touched that you were making a point, son -- and it was one well *worth* making. You're always going to be able to drive me..." Treville growls and shakes his head. "You're the blood in my veins. I won't forget, I promise. I *can't* forget. Not now." 

Porthos inhales -- and breathes in Treville's hunger, his lust, his *ache* -- 

He knows *exactly* how full Treville's *knot* is. He knows -- 

"You won't ever try to pretend to be -- above this. To be *just* my father." 

Treville *growls* -- "There's no such thing as --" 

"*Daddy*." 

"Let me define my *terms*, son: I will be your father every *second* I spend *tied* to you while we *both* howl the roof down --" 

"*Fuck* --" 

"-- and for every sticky, filthy, *reprehensibly* *deviant* moment before *and* after that." 

"Right, bloody *fine*, but that's not how you were *acting* --" 

"You're right," Treville says, and takes a breath. "I was trying to be gentle with you -- and your worries. I was trying to be... some variety of *reassuring*." 

"You were pinning your bloody *cock* back, is what you were doing." 

Treville *stops* -- and takes a deeper breath.

And nods -- 

"I apologize."

"Yeah?" 

"Yes. I will *remember* that you don't want that from me -- ever?" 

"Never, Daddy -- and just go with the idea that my brothers don't *either*." 

Treville looks pained. 

"You're thinking of Athos, aren't you." 

"He spent the length of *every* conversation with the pack stiff, sweating, and *blushing to the roots of his hair*, son." 

"I hear you; I do. But guess what's been getting him to open up and share with the class all bloody night, eh? *Before* you and your Jason showed up and reminded him of all the shite between his ears, anyway." 

"I apologize? I *definitely* apologize --" 

Porthos snorts and smacks him. "Bloody *guess*." 

Treville grins *brightly*. "Judging by the run of this conversation -- and this *entire* night? I'm going to go with the idea that it was something along the lines of you and Aramis *brutalizing* him with sexuality." 

"Often *quite* literally, Daddy. Aramis feeling him up while being *honest* at him, me bruising his cock every time he *tried* to close himself off? It works *wonders*. I *highly* recommend it." 

Treville looks pained again. 

"Bloody *what*?" 

Treville picks up his tray and nods to Porthos's -- 

"Right, but --" 

"Let's head back to the study, son. I need to look my beloved godson over while *attempting* not to plan out all the different ways I'm going to hurt him until he spends in self-defense and then *talks* to me about his *feelings*." 

Porthos snorts and picks up his tray. "And after that three seconds is up, Daddy?" 

"I? Am going to explain to our Aramis just how much he's always wanted to live *here*, with *you* --" 

"And Athos?" 

"And Athos --" 

"And Jason?" 

"And Jason, and Jason's *libraries* *plural*--" 

"You know what, Daddy? Maybe lead with that." 

"Right you are, son," Treville says, and nods judiciously.

Porthos... 

Porthos breathes, and licks his lips for the taste of Treville on his *mouth* -- 

And spends just a *little* time adding new pieces to the broad, wild, and *strange* puzzle that his life is becoming. 

In the end, he knows every last member of his new family -- his *pack* -- will *help* him put it all together, and that... 

*That's* maybe the most important thing.


	12. A bevy of heavily-armed beauties? The best bevy of all!

Treville sets his tray down on the cabinet closest to the couch, and nods toward the sideboard for Porthos's tray.

Jason gives him a *pointedly* I-told-you-so look from close to the fire, where he's showing Athos and Aramis... something or other in the pomegranate-sized conflagration hovering above his palm. 

Athos looks to be taking *voluminous* mental notes. So does Aramis, truly, but Aramis *also* appears to be moments away from trying to reach *within* the blaze -- 

(Oh, dear,) Jason says, and returns more of his focus to the boys. 

You do that, lover, Treville says, and starts eating. 

(I...) 

Mm?

(I would like...)

Yes...? 

Porthos joins Treville with a hunk of bread which has been torn open and stuffed full of beef, and some green, leafy shite, too. 

His first bite puts at least half of it in his mouth, and Treville's heart is full. 

So full. 

(You're quite ridiculous, you know,) Jason says, but -- 

The *precise* smile in his voice... 

That bit of *colour* in the cheek Treville can see -- 

"Jason is absolutely telling your brothers about his Ser Darwyn, you know," Treville says, and grins.

(You *arse*.) 

"Mm? Who's he?" Porthos asks. Or... possibly something else, considering how *lusty* that chewing has gotten. 

Athos looks *up* -- "Ser Darwyn is the knight Jason was squired to, brother --" 

"Who *stood* for him when *Arthur* knighted him -- oh, wait, wait, I cannot see the *weapons* well enough!" Aramis has not actually looked up. 

"Nice, *that*," Porthos says. Maybe. 

"Yes, quite," Athos says, and turns back to the blaze -- 

(I...) 

Lover? 

(No. Let us be -- clear,) Jason says, stepping *back* from Athos and Aramis -- 

"Oh -- please wait, my Jason --" 

"Just this, mon grand," Jason says, tossing the miniature conflagration about two feet up into the air and gesturing it to about the size of a large book -- 

Aramis *beams* -- "Now I can see the shine of *oil* on your longsword! But *which* oil did you use? And did you use the same for your mail? And was it offensive to the horses? What precisely was the squire's *role* --" 

"*This* particular bit of magery will, because we are *all* bound, answer every last *one* of your questions with imagery pulled from my memories --" 

"*Oh* --" 

"Well," Jason says, and smiles wryly. "Every question it *can*, mon grand. There is no doubt in my *mind* that you will quickly find *multiple* ways to stymie the thing." 

"Yes, yes, I am *studying*," Aramis says, eyes *fixed* on the blaze and tracking quickly -- 

Athos hums happily, attention split comfortably between the blaze and Aramis himself -- 

And Jason looks to *him* -- and Porthos, who *finally* swallows and then raises his eyebrows. "I would very much like to discuss your magical education with you, Porthos." 

"Anything you say, mate -- though I'd like to eat a bit more while we do." 

"Of course. I... you truly don't mind..." 

Porthos looks at Jason *precisely* as though he's mad. "You want to bloody *teach* me. Why would I *mind*?"

Treville coughs around the words 'I told you so.' 

Jason scowls at him -- 

Porthos snorts -- 

And Treville winks at Jason and moves his tray closer to Aramis and Athos. "I'll just be over *here*, catching any and all questions about --" 

"What -- why --" Aramis *snarls* at the conflagration. "Those monks are no true Christians!" 

"-- about that," Treville says, and clears his throat, focusing on his *other* boys, and leaving Porthos and Jason to their own devices. "What's that, Aramis?" 

Aramis gestures -- with *beautiful* passion -- to the conflagration where -- Treville checks -- a monk is in the process of committing just one of *many* of the war crimes Arthur's host was guilty of during the wars of succession. 

"Mm. Well." Treville looms *just* enough to catch the whole of Aramis's -- and Athos's -- attention. "Exactly why did you *expect* a man -- a *man*, neither a soldier nor a *knight* -- who chose, of his own free will, to follow what *he* knew to be a marauding *rebel* army to *war* against the rightfully-anointed King --" 

"I..." 

Treville raises his eyebrows. 

Aramis looks a bit *green*... 

Treville claps him on the shoulder. "They weren't all like that, son. Look," he says, and gestures -- 

And the conflagration shows monks dutifully whispering prayers over the wounded as Jason works to heal them -- 

Dutifully *attempting* to convert the few men who would still *listen* to a Christian priest *after* having their lives saved by a blood-mage -- 

*Cheerfully* drinking the moon down with the men while attempting to get them to sing hymns instead of something bawdier -- 

"I. Hm." Aramis frowns.

"Yes, son?" 

And Athos raises an eyebrow at Aramis --

"I have not tried this, yet." 

"You absolutely could," Treville says. "Get a man drunk enough and he'll sing about any bloody thing -- up to and including Jesus Christ." 

Athos nods firmly. 

Aramis frowns *deeply*. 

"Yes...?" 

"I must consider this further. For now, I must know more about *Jason's* religion!" 

"Right you are," Treville says, and they watch the conflagration together as it spins and reels through Jason's history, Jason's life, Jason's knowledge and theories and carefully-put-together sensory *essays*. 

Together, with Aramis's somewhat *wild* guidance, they follow Jason's *religious* education. From the time he was Guthlac of Mercia, learning the lore of forest blood-mages at his mother's and grandmother's feet -- even as the *nominally* Christian back-country lord who'd given Guthlac his name circled warily around all three of them; to the time when he had grown into what he'd *thought* was a much more worldly knight of Arthur's host, setting aside the lore of his mothers before him and the Christians marching beside him with equal disdain; to the years after he'd been bound to Etrigan and named himself Jason, when the proof of the existence of other worlds and other spheres with entirely different cosmologies was suddenly there before him; to the years after that, traveling his *own* sphere and discovering -- seemingly anew every *day* -- how limited he had been; to the years fighting with Etrigan as an uneasy partner in their shakily-defined war against all who would threaten their *somewhat* less shakily-defined conceptions of justice and fairness and *right*, learning still more and growing in *power* beyond the wildest and most *fearful* imaginings of Guthlac. 

They watch, together, as the nameless, unknowable, and *terrifyingly* powerful shadow-creature possesses both Jason and Etrigan at once, giving them abilities neither of them had ever considered *possible* while leaving them with centuries of unanswered questions -- and enough raw power to leave dozens upon dozens of the more malevolent -- if less omnipotent -- *deities* twitching, bleeding, and *dying* at their feet. 

They watch as Jason and Etrigan develop entirely new paradigms for *considering* gods, religion, and the very nature of -- and dangers within -- *belief*. They watch as Jason and Etrigan, whom the All-Mother had birthed directly, *politely* agree to disagree about the utility of such things among mortals, and reaffirm *their* essential brotherhood.

Aramis doesn't stop them again, though there are several points when he scowls so blackly that it seems like he *must* call a pause *soon* -- 

He doesn't, and Athos seems entirely content to watch the twinned shows of distant history and his beloved brother. 

There is no part of Treville which can't understand that *perfectly* -- 

And Athos hums and smiles warmly at *him*. 

Treville smiles *back* -- and tips the hat he isn't wearing. 

After a time, the images flood and skid to a *stop* -- 

And Aramis takes a shuddering breath. "I -- have more questions." 

"About...?" 

Aramis *frowns*. "Everything." 

Athos kisses Aramis's cheek. "I believe we'll have time for that." 

Aramis blinks -- and beams like the sun glinting off Jason's mail in the seconds before he turns some battlefield or another into a charnel pit. 

(You *poet*.) 

Treville hums -- 

And Aramis and Athos are staring at him with somewhat *pained* expressions on their faces, which strongly suggests they'd picked up absolutely all of Treville's thought --

"*Yes*, sir," Aramis says, and glares -- 

\-- perhaps including all the fragments and portions of formerly-living individuals flying to and fro -- 

"Sir." Athos *looks* at him. 

Treville snickers quietly and winks. "I'll behave. For a time. What can I *tell* you boys?" 

Aramis glances up at the conflagration -- 

Athos glances at *Aramis* -- 

"I could," Treville says, "begin 'asking' questions of that little conflagration which I *think* you boys could use the answers to...?" 

Aramis makes a cutting gesture. "I wish to ask these questions *myself*, sir. I wish to see..." He looks past Treville to where Porthos and Jason are...

(Your --) 

Our.

(-- son is the most *relentlessly* *welcoming* person I have come across in all my years, in all my travels, across every sphere I've so much as *glanced* upon.) 

Well, yes, but -- 

(We are speaking, and *flirting*, and, at some point within the next few *hours* --) 

Or sooner? 

(Porthos is going to be naked, lashed to something horizontal, and *stuffed* with my shadows.) 

Treville hums. You may be a little busy for that, lover. 

(What do you -- oh, dear. I...) 

And *then* Treville turns enough that he can *see* Aramis's gaze crisping the hair on Jason's bollocks a bit -- 

See Athos raising one of those *gloriously* commanding eyebrows --

See Porthos leaning with casually *impatient* ease against the mantelpiece -- 

And see Jason find himself torn -- *helplessly* torn -- between giving his absolute attention and *focus* to one student over *there*... versus other students over *there*. 

Treville grins *meanly*. "If you *have* a minute, lover, I have a few questions on lycanthropes that should really be answered before we head into the Black Forest next weekend --" 

"You -- you *arse*!" 

"Is my Jason finding it difficult to *choose* which of us to teach *when*?" And Aramis's tone is sharp, *demanding* -- 

"Perhaps you simply require a more exact schedule...?" And Athos raises that eyebrow *higher* -- 

"Mate, if you *need* me to wait --" 

"I -- I *fuck*," Jason says, and his eyes are *wild* -- 

He smells *panicked* -- 

And Porthos is close enough to cup Jason's shoulder and sniff him *thoroughly* before Treville can *get* there, but -- but. The time for teasing has *definitely* passed.

Treville barks a call for attention that the boys heed just as quickly as they should. "What you all *need* to know in this moment? Is that Jason has only ever had *one* student at a time up to this point. One student whom he -- nearly invariably -- had to coax and chivvy and *seduce* into *allowing* him to be their teacher," Treville says, and raises an eyebrow of his own. 

Porthos looks to Jason, who is blinking and staring and licking his lips *exactly* like a man who has suddenly inherited *both* the massive material wealth of a distant relative, and, somehow, the distant relative's beautiful and accomplished wife; as well as all seven of the distant relative's beautiful, accomplished, and *contentious* mistresses. Porthos *frowns*...

They're all frowning, truly -- but Athos turns to *him*. "Sir... *you* are Jason's student." 

"Among many, many other things, son. But --" 

"We will *not* try to usurp your position --" 

"My *Athos*!" 

"My Aramis, we must not overstep --" 

"Fuck, no, wait, *sons* --" 

Aramis growls -- "I will not wait! Jason *himself* has said that he will *teach* --"

*Porthos* barks -- 

Loudly -- 

*Ringingly* -- 

Treville sighs. "That's beautiful, son. You were saying?"

"Right, well, um. First off, I was not *expecting* to make that noise just then --" 

"Yes, yes, my Porthos, but --" 

"*Down*, love," Porthos says, and *looks* at Aramis -- 

Who shuts his teeth with a *click* and -- inclines his head. "It will be as you say, my Porthos," Aramis says, calm as you please. Which...

Well, that bears a *great* deal of thought about whatever 'arrangement' they actually had *time* to make between them before all hell broke loose tonight, but, mostly, Treville can finally move to his lover's side, cup the back of his neck -- 

Raise an *eyebrow* -- 

Jason still looks like a man faced with a room of arguing -- and armed -- beauties who *all* want a piece of him, and since that is *exactly* the case...

Treville rumbles soothingly and pets.

Porthos flares his nostrils at them -- and nods before turning back to Aramis. "Neither I nor Daddy are *mad* enough to stand in the way of you getting your Jason-y educational time, love." 

Aramis blinks. "I -- you have not *asked* --" 

"I don't *have* to," Porthos says -- 

"That's *right*," Treville says, and licks Jason's temple. "I do know a *few* things about my men, son." 

"You have said, to me, that you are *not* our Captain here," Aramis says. 

Treville grins. "I also know a few things, at this late date, about my *heart*." 

Aramis swallows -- 

Athos nods and cups Aramis's shoulder -- 

*Porthos* nods and leans in to *sniff* Jason a little more, undoubtedly picking up all the scents of confusion, hunger, worry, and *hope* that are rising and threading through all of Jason's usual metal, musk, and perfume.

And Aramis -- winces. "I... apologize," he says, and clenches his fists tightly -- stops that. "I apologize despite the fact that my hunger is true, and great, and will drive me to excesses *like* this -- again." 

"Love..." 

"You are heard," Jason says, and takes a breath -- 

And stands up straight -- reaching up to cup Treville's hand on his shoulder. 

"You are heard, mon grand, and I *accept* your apology, and I daresay so does everyone else here...?" 

They nod, more or less as one -- 

And Jason nods, as well. "I am faced, for the first time in my rather excessive life, with a *surfeit* of students -- the *one* commodity other than companionship and knowledge *itself* which I have been truly greedy for since the days when I was a human-enough witch in Arthur's host. I was too *ignorant*, back then, to teach anyone much of anything. But it did not take long in the grand scheme of things for that to change, and it was hardly any time at all after *that* for the desire to grow. 

"The *greed*. 

"It is *remarkably* easy to lose oneself to greed, and that is *precisely* what I did, carelessly flitting away from the lessons I *began* giving you and Athos so that I could begin *working* with -- and on -- *Porthos*." Jason smiles wryly. "A part of me, I realize now, had begun planning to do just that... indefinitely. Moving back and forth and back again -- and again, and *again* -- with little enough conscious care given to what you, my *students*, might need from me --" 

"Is *this* how you *teach*?" And Aramis's gaze is hot again. 

"Not in the *slightest*," Jason says, wry and sure. "I am a *focused* teacher, and a *dedicated* teacher, and a *fixated* teacher, and, above all, a *thorough* teacher. Had any one of you been my *only* student, I would have kept you going, coaxing you to ask more and more questions, coaxing you to *demand* my *lectures*, until you were wearied to the *bone*. 

"And then I would *repeat* that process night after *night*. I..." Jason frowns. 

"But that is no longer what you desire, Jason?" And Athos takes a sip -- of water. *Somehow* -- 

No, no, Treville will *not* call attention to it -- 

Athos smiles wryly at him -- and toasts him -- before turning back to Jason. 

Jason hums at both of them before focusing on Athos. "I *desire* it with *all* of you -- including the *continuation* of it with mon amant. However... I am not certain how I can make it *work*." 

Porthos nods slowly. "Right, well, what do you *need* to teach me and Daddy versus what *Aramis* needs to know on any given night? What *are* your thoughts on what to teach Athos? Could we maybe break things down that way?" 

Aramis blinks -- 

Athos nods. "I am, of course, open to learning anything at any time. And it would be tactically unsound for you not to continue teaching Treville and Porthos everything they need to know on as expedited a schedule as possible." 

Aramis's fingers *twitch* as he *obviously* thinks about time he will *not* be able to spend learning -- 

Treville promises himself many, many opportunities to grind the Church into the dust over the course of his immortality... and clears his *throat* for Aramis's benefit. "Which is not to say that those tactically useful lessons won't include all sorts of background in history, the history of magical use on this sphere and others, magical theory..." Treville raises an eyebrow. "Porthos is almost certainly going to need a little help learning some of those languages, son. I know I will." 

"I... languages, you say?" 

Jason hums. "There are any number of books in my libraries which can explain -- far better than I can -- the many, many things *all* of you should know about magical theory and practice. A man with a gift for languages who *also* happens to have a knack for sharing that gift with others... well," Jason says, and looks directly into Aramis's eyes. "Such a man would be, for a man like me, a pearl beyond price." 

Aramis licks his lips slowly -- 

*Thoughtfully*...

"You will give me access to *all* of your libraries...?" 

"*All* of you will have access to all of my libraries... save for the ones which are unsafe -- or actively deadly -- for humans and shifters to peruse."

Aramis narrows his eyes. 

Jason laughs delightedly. "I did *not* say I wouldn't share the *books*, mon grand." 

Aramis *continues* narrowing his eyes for long moments -- but then the expression becomes a smile. A rueful one. "I need not always be --" 

"*Prickly*, love?" 

"I believe you would miss being... stabbed, brother," Athos says. 

"*Very* true," Porthos says -- "But not *nearly* as much as you would." 

Athos sighs *dreamily* -- 

Porthos *snorts* -- 

And Aramis smiles *shyly* at Jason. "I... my Teacher. *Our* Teacher." 

Jason grins wildly. "You have my utmost attention, mon grand." 

"Perhaps you will *continue* giving Porthos his lessons tonight? And allow the rest of us to watch?" 

"I would be *happy* to -- though we should discuss scheduling other lessons --" 

"And the fucking," Porthos says, and takes a drink from one of the numerous bottles scattered round the study. "We should *absolutely* discuss the scheduling of the fucking."

"My Porthos." 

"Yeah, love?" 

"Did you wish to interrupt your *lessons* -- your good lessons! -- solely to dally?" 

"Not at all, love," Porthos says, crossing the room and clapping the bottle into Aramis's hand -- 

"I --" 

"Drink that." 

"My Porthos --" 

"Come on, now." 

"As you say, but --" 

Porthos makes drinky-drinky motions -- 

Athos *snorts* -- 

*Again* -- 

Treville rumbles and rumbles and *hugs* him -- 

"*Sir* --" 

"Do be quiet, Athos," Jason says, and helps. "It *remains* your birthday." 

"Hm. What excuse will you use -- tomorrow?" 

Treville rumbles *harder* -- 

Jason hums and *hugs* Athos -- and Treville -- harder. "We will all, of course, be rewarding you for every moment you allow for the *hope* of bright -- and brighter -- tomorrows." 

Athos shivers. "I like. I like that." 

Treville kisses Athos's cheek -- 

"My Porthos --" 

"Drink a little more, love." 

"I -- *fine*, but --" 

"Juuust a little... there you are," Porthos says.

"What do you *need* to say which required me to be even less sober than I *was*?" 

"One: Sometimes our lessons are going to *involve* the fucking," Porthos says, and Treville can *feel* him raising his eyebrows and lowering his chin. 

"I... hm." 

"Yeah, you can see it. Two: Even when the fucking is *not* directly educational? It's still going to be *absolutely* brilliant, and staggering, and make us all spend ourselves mindless and howling and screaming and that -- that *wailing* thing you do that makes you sound about *twelve* even when it's all deep." 

"You. Do you *like* this --" 

"I love it, Aramis. I've been wanking myself senseless to it since the *first* time we went whoring together, and you let Vivienne -- you remember Vivienne -- shove two fingers up your pert little arse." 

"'Pert' -- my *Porthos* --" 

"*Three*," Porthos says, and Treville can feel his son moving closer -- 

Feel him *moving* *Aramis* closer -- 

"*Three*," Porthos says, again, and molds and presses himself and Aramis into the standing hug by the fire. "'s not a bloody *dalliance*, love."

"I..." 

"Exactly which one of us is bloody *capable* of *having* a bloody dalliance with any other one of us?" 

Aramis is silent -- 

Treville can *smell* him *calculating* -- 

Jason hums -- 

And Athos -- laughs, honestly laughs, openly *laughs*, soft and rusty and sweet. "My Aramis..." 

"I -- I -- my *Athos* --" 

"My Aramis," Athos says, and there's a sly, *growing* heat under his voice. "Just think what delights may await us -- all of us -- on *your* birthday... should you surrender this point with honour." 

Aramis makes a soft, strangled sound.

The quiet is both complete and *joyously* speculative -- 

And then Porthos snorts. "Brother, Aramis's birthday isn't for another seven bloody *months*. Could we maybe try to have a few delights this *weekend*?" 

"Oh, no, my Porthos, *no*," Aramis says, squeezing them tightly and pulling on a lofty tone. 

"Why *not*?" 

"Because? We will *all* be busy with --" 

"Your lessons," Jason says *blandly*. 

"-- our *lessons*, as well as with the many small and large tasks a Musketeer must undertake when --" 

"Moving into their Captain's house," Treville says. *Blandly*. 

And -- 

He's expecting Aramis to pause, for his scents to lose their calm, for him to *balk* -- something. 

What happens, instead, is that Aramis's hitched breath becomes a sigh, and his scents mingle on the boundaries between shocked pleasure and absolute satisfaction. "This is so, my Treville," Aramis says, and squeezes them all firmly again -- 

Athos *hums* again -- 

Jason -- bless him -- is making *lesson* plans in the back of his mind -- 

"Right, Daddy, I'm going to have to pull doggy rank here." 

"Yes, son?" 

"These people right here aren't taking my cock's --" 

"Or your knot's?" 

"Or my *knot's* needs seriously, Daddy." 

"Oh, son," Treville says, and turns enough to rumble in *Athos's* ear. "Believe me when I say that we'll *both* teach them better."

"Right you are." 

"Ah." 

"Hm." 

Treville can feel the blushes -- and flushes -- for that -- 

Smell the rising *musk* -- *taste* it, too -- 

And Jason's making rather different plans down there in the dark. 

Much, much better. 

end.


End file.
